


Blue eyes

by PoeDamnnson



Category: Supernatural
Genre: #plottwist amirite, ;), AU, Abusive Relationships, Alternate Universe, Bi Dean, Caring Sam, Coma, Coming Out, Dean is confused, Dean is suffering from a case of being very sexually frustrated, Dean pines more than a fucking pinecone, Drunk Dean, F/M, Hospitals, Internalized Homophobia, John is Nice, Kissing, M/M, Mary is an asshole, Masturbation, Or Is It?, Pining, Sam is a Good Brother, Sarcasm, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Therapy, but like arent we all, car crash, cas is a paramedic, dean is a flirty drunk, haha im hilarious, happy endings, im so alone, like a lot of sarcasm, not between Cas and Dean tho, not so PG stuff, ooh, read to find out more
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-30
Updated: 2016-07-02
Packaged: 2018-07-11 03:40:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 28,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7027024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PoeDamnnson/pseuds/PoeDamnnson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Dean Winchester wakes up from a three month coma, he finds that his past of hunting demons and saving heaven were nothing but a dream.<br/>As Dean works through recovery, he slowly begins to move on from his hunter-past dream world.<br/>Except, he can't seem to shake the thought of Castiel.<br/>He has to find him.</p><p>‘Hey Sam,’ Dean said.<br/>‘Yes, Dean?’<br/>‘Where’s Cas?’<br/>‘Cas?’<br/>Dean gave his brother a what-the-fuck-how-can-you-not-remember-Cas look. ‘You know – dorky angel, sex hair, crazy blue eyes. Cas!’<br/>Sam raised an eyebrow. ‘Sounds cute.’</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I'm not a Demon

Dean’s head throbbed violently as he stumbled against the hood of the impala. He could feel blood pulsing underneath his skin, his ears ringing and legs shaking. With a defeated sigh, he collapsed against the car, curling in on himself and willing the pain to stop. Sam, his own brother, had leapt into the pit with Lucifer. He was gone.  
Bobby was dead. Hell, even Cas’ was gone. He lay there, feeling empty and defeated.  
And alone.

The sound of crunching gravel underfoot caught Dean’s attention. His head spun round’, and he winced as another pulse of pain shot through him.  
‘Cas?’ his voice choked out, disbelieving. ‘You’re alive?’  
Cas smiled softly at him, extending an arm and pressing it against Dean’s temple. You would have though after the countless times Cas had cured Dean, that he would be used to the strange sensation, but even now, the feeling was still an unwelcome one.  
Clumsily, Dean pulled himself to his feet.  
‘Cas,’ he began, ‘are you God?’  
Cas gave a gentle laugh. ‘That’s a nice compliment Dean, but no. Although, I do believe he brought me back, new and improved.’  
As if to emphasise his point, he readjusted his coat and tie, smirking slightly. Dean’s eyes briefly made contact with Cas’s, before drifting past and laying on the body of his deceased uncle. Cas followed his gaze and gave a tiny nod.  
He took a few steps backwards, and leant down by where Bobby was lying.   
He placed his hand to his head, like he had just done with Dean, and Bobby shot up, panting heavily and looking dazed and confused.

A surge of hope washed through Dean as he watched his uncle clamber to his feet, very much alive. The feeling was quickly crushed as the memory of Sam, falling into the pit resurfaced. He looked down at his hands, still clutching the Horsemen’s rings.  
He could feel Cas’ walk up towards him, and place a comforting hand on his shoulder.  
‘Dean,’ he started. ‘I’m so sorry’.  
Dean laughed bitterly at this and looked up to meet the angels steely gaze. ‘Yeah. Me too’  
Suddenly, his eyes began to blur, the ground beneath him shaking.  
‘Cas!’ he cried out. ‘What the hell is going on?’  
Through warped eyes, he could see Cas’ watching him, looking unfazed by the fact that the ground was literally giving away.  
The last thing he saw was deformed blue eyes following him into the darkness.  
‘Cas!’

‘Oh, shit! He’s waking up!’ came a deep voice from somewhere in the room. The voice was accompanied by low whirs and insistent beeping of a monitor.  
‘Jesus Christ,’ Dean mumbled. ‘Someone turn that thing off.’  
He heard a choked laugh and felt his hand being grasped by someone. He began to slowly prise open heavy eyelids to take in his surroundings.  
Everything was blurry. Great start, he thought.  
But, the figure in-front of him was somewhat clearer. He could make out a male’s face; long hair, five o’clock shadow and a pointy nose. Sammy.

‘Dean’, Sammy said, his voice broken and he sounded as if he’d been crying. ‘Oh, god I’m so glad you’re awake.’  
‘Heya, Sammy,’ he croaked out. ‘Long time no see, eh?’  
Sam slapped him playfully, and as Dean’s vision cleared he could confirm that, yes, Sam had been crying. He felt a guilty pang in his chest.  
Wait? Wasn’t Sam trapped in a pit underground with everyone’s favourite angel, Satan himself? Dean’s body tensed under Sam’s comforting hold.  
‘You’re not my brother,’ he spat out.  
Sam’s face melted into one of confusion and hurt.  
‘Come again?’   
‘Get away from me.’ Dean pulled his hand away from under Sam’s.   
‘Dude - calm down.’ Sam threw up his hands in mock surrender. ‘What the hell are you talking about?’   
‘Hah!’ Dean barked. ‘Funny you mention hell – you demon.’  
Sam looked at Dean, expression unreadable. A few moments of silence passed before Sam broke out into an ear shattering laugh.  
‘Whew!’ he cried, wiping imaginary tears from his eyes. ‘Dude, I can assure you – I’m not a demon.’  
Dean squinted his eyes at his ‘brother’.  
‘Dean, you were in a coma,’ he said, softer now that he had calmed down from Dean’s apparently “hilarious” accusation.   
‘You what?’  
‘There was a car crash –‘  
‘Dude, that was ten years ago,’ Dean interrupted. ‘I died. Dad sold his soul and you spilt coffee everywhere.’  
Sam furrowed his brows in confusion.  
‘I think I would remember that,’ he joked.’ Also, for a man with no soul, Dad’s looking pretty good and is currently getting lunch.’  
Dean stared at his brother for a moment. How could he think John Winchester was alive?  
‘Yellow eyes!’ Dean cried desperately.   
‘Okay, you’ve officially lost me. Dean – what the ever-loving fuck are you on about?’  
‘You know; yellow eyes!’ Dean exclaimed, as if repeating the name would somehow make him seem not insane.  
‘I’m going to get a nurse,’ Sam said, standing up.

‘He appears to be doing very well, Mr. Wesson. Although, his long term memory has been slightly damaged – but it’s nothing to be concerned about and his memory should have completely returned by the end of the month,’ the nurse explained to Sam, who was leaning against the door and looking at his brother with a very sceptical expression.  
‘He keeps going on about demons,’ Sam said.  
Dean rolled his eyes at this and sighed heavily.  
The nurse merely smiled at the younger Winch-Wesson’s comment. ‘It’s very common for coma patients to dream vividly and then believe these dreams to be true once waking – I can assure you, after a week or so he will be completely back to normal.’  
Sam nodded along as she spoke, whilst Dean scoffed, but his expression remained the same. She nodded at both of them, before departing the room.   
‘Wesson?’  
‘Dude, it’s my last name.’  
‘Nuh huh – you’re a Winchester,’ Dean corrects. Sam just rolls his eyes, obviously tiring of Dean’s fanatic and false ideas of what is real.  
‘And you’re Dean Smith,’ Sam adds.  
‘Ew.’  
Sam sighs exasperatedly.  
‘We’re still brothers though right?’ Dean checks. Sam nods in response. There’s moment of silence before Dean speaks again.  
‘Hey Sam,’ Dean said.  
‘Yes, Dean?’  
‘Where’s Cas?’  
‘Cas?’  
Dean gave his brother a what-the-fuck-how-can-you-not-remember-Cas look. ‘You know – dorky angel, sex hair, crazy blue eyes. Cas!’  
Sam raised an eyebrow. ‘Sounds cute.’  
Dean felt his face turn scarlet. ‘I didn’t mean it like that, Sammy.’  
Sam just laughed and sat down next to Dean. ‘You should rest.’  
Despite being in a coma for the past three months, according to the nurse, the idea of sleeping seemed very appealing to Dean.

He was in the impala, the windows were down and Metallica was blasting through the loudspeakers. To his right, Cas was sitting, fumbling with the seat belt.  
‘Dean, how come you never wear these?’ He asked, cocking his head the way he always did.  
Dean shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I guess I just figured, you know, with that fact I hunt freaking demons, that a seat belt can’t really do much to save me.’  
‘But it’s the law,’ Cas’ reminded him.  
‘What show have you been watching?’ he quipped. Cas didn’t reply, but Dean could see the corners of his lips turning upwards in a faint smile.  
He continued to fiddle with the seat belt, before dismissing it and gently ghosting a finger over the edges of the window.  
They sat in comfortable silence, minus the heavy metal, of course. They usually spent their time together in silence. Not that that was a bad thing; Dean, personally, enjoyed just being able to relax in someone’s presence without the pressure of a must have conversation.  
‘It’s a very beautiful car, Dean,’ Cas’ said out of nowhere.  
Dean felt his heart grow two sizes out of pride for his baby. ‘Damn fucking right it is.’  
Cas’ shot him another small smile, his deep blue eyes crinkling at the corners and Dean felt the joy for his car ease into something else. He gulped down the surprise emotion and pulled his eyes and away from Cas’ and focused on the road, which he probably should have been doing anyway.  
‘How are you, Dean?’ came the low rumble of Cas’ question.  
Dean’s focus on the road intensified, icing Cas’ interest in his wellbeing with a quick ‘fine’.   
Cas placed his hand on Dean’s thigh and squeezed it gently. Before Dean could respond in anyway, he had already let go.  
Dean tried not to think about the fact that his body was tingling all over from the touch.  
‘Cas …’

He woke up with a jolt.   
Sam gave a cry of surprise next to him. Bless his soul, he still wouldn’t leave his brothers side, even though he was fine.   
‘You okay?’ he prompted.  
Oh, yeah, Dean thought, I’m fine apart from the fact that I’m dreaming about guy who apparently doesn’t exist, and who I also may be slightly crushing on.  
Dean didn’t use that as a response, figuring that he really needed to dial down the crazy as to prevent Sam sending him to a mental hospital.  
‘Uhh,’ he started. ‘What kind of car do I drive?’  
Sam shot him another look. ‘A Honda.’  
Dean squeezed his eye’s shut in horror. ‘No fucking way.’  
When he opened them again, he was greeted by the cold blue of the ceiling that was eerily similar to the colour of Cas’ eyes.  
He groaned again.   
‘It’s just a car Dean,’ Sam said, assuming that Dean’s latter reaction was about the car.  
Dean sighed.   
He had to find Castiel.


	2. We're not in Kansas anymore

A week later, Dean was stepping into his one bedroom apartment for the first time. Well, not the first first time – but the first time since he’d woken up.  
He knew that the Demons and Angels and all that were just a part of his dream (hell, he’d even attacked Sam with holy water and threw a silver fork at the guy just to make sure he wasn’t actually a skin walker or a demon), but even so, he still couldn’t shake the idea of Castiel.  
Cas, who’d saved his ass more times than he could count. Cas, who he shared a profound bond with. Cas, who was well, Cas.  
And as much as he hated to admit it, he missed the fucking imaginary guy.  
He missed the way he cocked his head when he was confused, or the way he tried to reference pop culture and the way his eyes shone when he squinted them and shit – Dean was royally fucked.  
Now, Dean has had some weird relationships. There was the stripper, and then the woman who turned into a cat and wait – these weren’t real, were they?  
‘Shit,’ he hisses to an empty apartment. Okay, well. Dean has had some weird ‘fake’ relationships, but crushing on a guy who doesn’t exist? That’s got to take the cherry.  
He slouches over to the fridge, throwing it open and great. There is no food.   
Minus the bag of spinach – but Dean is pretty sure that that doesn’t count as food anymore.   
Also, what the fuck? Since when does he eat spinach?  
Dean shudders and throws the offending bag of “food” into the bin. He’ll go shopping later. Actually, scrap that, he’ll text Sammy to bring him some food. After all, he can still use the ‘I was in a coma’ excuse for at least another fortnight.   
He whips out his phone and brings up Sam’s contact (which is saved as ‘moose’), and jams in the demand. He throws his phone onto the couch and then just stands there for a while.  
He has no clue what to do.  
He’s spent the last 30 years hunting demons, what does he do now?   
‘No, dude’ he corrects himself, again to an empty apartment. ‘You hunted demons for the last three months – in a coma - different thing.’  
He observes the flat, looking for any sign of life that the pre-coma Dean was even remotely interesting. He finds a high school diploma, a baseball bat, one fender guitar (‘nice’ he comments) and a degree from a university for accounting. Dean shudders at the words.  
He’s a freaking accountant?   
He also finds a journal that looks a lot like his dad’s. The John Winchester dad not the John Smith he had met a few days ago in hospital. He was all teary eyes and telling Dean how much he loved him.   
Honestly, it was disgusting.   
The journal turns out to be a diary – full of important dates coming up, etc.  
Through reading it, he finds out he works at Roman Enterprise (After frantically checking, he finds out that it is not run by Dick Roman, but a chubby and cheery looking man called Francis Evergreen).  
He dials the number for the company and his greeted by a very jolly woman.  
‘Hello, Roman Enterprise, how may I help?’ She chirps.  
Dean has to angle the phone away so as not to deafen himself.  
‘Uh, hi; I’m Dean Winch-Smith. I’m Dean Smith, I work here,’ he says, quickly but not so smoothly correcting himself.  
Over the phone, he can hear the woman typing hurriedly.  
‘Ah, yes, Mr. Smith You were in a coma, that correct?’  
‘Yeah,’ he says, clearing his throat slightly.  
‘I will have the head of your department contact you,’ she says.  
‘Thank you,’ he says. ‘Hey, um, quick question …’  
‘Yes?’  
‘Who exactly is the head of my department and what is my department?’  
He can almost hear the woman smile. ‘That would be Bobby Singer, Mr. Smith. And you work in finance.’  
‘Oh, yippee,’ he drawls.  
‘Is that all?’ She asks.  
Dean responds by hanging up.  
Bobby is real. Huh. Makes sense, though, that Dean would put people he knew into his dream world; except, no one seems to know Castiel.   
Maybe he works with him? Maybe that’s it?   
A small bubble of hope begins to grow at the thought that maybe, just maybe, his angel is real. After all, didn’t Cas’ dress like an accountant?

Castiel does not work in finance as it would turn out. Dean spent his entire shift looking for him, and subtly dropping his name into conversations to see if he could get a response.  
His only response so far has been ‘what the fuck is a Castiel,’ from a charming woman named Hael.  
It’s almost three, and Dean is sitting in his booth, pretending he knows what he’s doing when a bubbly red head appears behind him.  
‘Dean!’ She cries, causing Dean to almost piss himself. He spins round to face the one and only Charlie Bradbury.  
‘Charlie,’ he says, his voice breaking a tiny bit. ‘You’re here.’  
‘Yeah, Dean,’ she says. ‘I work here, you doofus.’  
‘You’re real,’ he whispers.  
‘Last time I checked. Dean, are you sure you should be out of hospital?’ she asks warily as Dean looks up at her, tears in his eyes.  
‘Uhh, Dean?’  
He stands up abruptly and wraps his arms around her, hugging her tight.  
‘I’m still gay, Dean,’ she says as he pulls away.  
Dean laughs. ‘I’m just really glad to see you.’  
Charlie smiles at him, flashing him teeth.   
‘You too, Dean, the office hasn’t been the same without you.’  
They share another hug before she goes off to her own booth.  
Dean flops down onto his chair and stares at the numbers on the screen, his fingers mindlessly caressing the keyboard. An idea pops into his head at that moment and suddenly he’s typing faster than he thought possible.  
CASTIEL he types into the search engine. Much to his dismay, the only thing that comes up is a whole lot of Jesus crap and how Castiel is the ‘Angel of Thursdays’ blah, blah, blah.  
He ponders for another moment, before typing a different name into the search engine.  
JIMMY NOVAK.  
Seeing as Jimmy wasn’t exactly a celebrity, not much shows up; just links that have similar names or Facebook accounts that definitely do not belong to Castiel.   
He sighs, leaning back in his chair.  
Think, Winchester, think.  
Aha!  
Castiel is related to Anna, right?  
ANNA MILTON.  
The name leads him to a link to a Facebook account. Slowly, he drags the mouse over and double clicks. His heart is racing, and it feels like the internet has never been so slow as the blue circle spins, tormenting Dean as it loads the page.   
And there she is – Anna Milton.  
Her profile picture shows her laughing, her arm around a girl Dean doesn’t know. But he knows her. Her red hair contrasts with her creamy complexion, and her green eyes sparkle, even through the grainy picture.  
‘Woah,’ is all Dean can say. He can’t believe she’s real. He goes over to her ‘friends’ list. If she’s related to Cas, then she should be friends with him, right?  
Unfortunately, a banner saying ‘Private’ appears as he clicks on the link.  
Shit, he thinks.   
He hovers over the ADD FRIEND button for a solid minute before pressing it and letting out a shaky breath.   
‘Ooh,’ a voice says from behind him. ‘She’s hot. Girlfriend?’  
He quickly presses the X in the top right corner, closing the page and spinning around to face the voice.  
‘Crowley?’ he hisses.  
‘My name is Fergus, Squirrel, I know you’ve been in a coma for a decade but I thought you’d at least remember your bff?’  
He fakes hurt and Dean glares suspiciously.  
‘We were never friends, Fergus,’ he spits. Crowley pulls up a chair and sits beside Dean.  
‘True,’ he says. ‘We were more like lovers.’  
Dean pushes him, and the wheelie chair ‘Fergus’ is currently inhabiting glides across the floor.   
Fergus glares at Dean comically, and then scoots his chair back towards the green-eyed man.  
‘Missed me, sweetie?’  
Dean bites out a laugh. ‘Piss off, Fergus.’  
Fergus quirks an eyebrow. ‘Save the dirty talk for the bedroom, honey.’  
He shoots Dean a wink, before departing the chair and sauntering off. Dean lets out a heavy sigh, leaning back in his chair and staring up at the ceiling.  
His mind begins to wander. He thinks about demons, and heaven, and hell and his brother, Sammy, leaping into the pit.  
It all felt so real.  
He thinks about holding his brother in his arms, as he’d collapsed against him, limp and lifeless due to Yellow-Eyes idiotic plan. He thinks about hell, and how he can still feel the meet hooks deep under his skin.  
He thinks of Castiel.   
Automatically, his hand goes to his shoulder, feeling where Cas’ hand had been. He squeezes it softly, before dropping it by his side.  
‘Smith!’ a voice barks out from across the office. Dean shoots up at the mention of his name, to see Bobby standing in front of his office.  
‘A word,’ he says, once he has Dean’s attention.

‘How are you doing, son,’ Bobby asks as Dean enters the office. Bobby is sitting behind a grand oak desk, an expensive computer to his left and a picture frame facing away from Dean to his right. A large bookcase encompasses the entire left wall. Dean eyes it up, and after seeing nothing but books on accounting, dismisses it. A green rug sits underfoot, covering the tiled floor. Dean isn’t much of an interior decorator, but even he can see that the threadbare rug looks terrible on top of the cheap plastic tiles.  
Bobby stretches out a hand, gesturing for Dean to take a seat. He complies.  
‘Dean,’ Bobby beams, ‘I’ve missed you, son. You ‘ad me dead worried about you.’  
Dean smiles back, glad to be in familiar and appreciated company. ‘I’ve missed you too, Bobby.’  
Bobby tsks’. ‘Mr. Singer in the workplace, remember, kid.’  
Dean nods firmly. ‘Right, sorry, Mr. Singer.’  
Bobby’s face softens. ‘You okay, boy?’  
Dean nods again, softer than before. ‘Yeah, just getting back on my feet is all.’  
Bobby seems to take this an appropriate response. ‘How’s your mother doing?’  
‘What?’ Dean chokes out. He assumed that as his mother hadn’t visited him, she had perished in the ‘real’ world, too.   
‘I hear she was on a business trip in Australia,’ Bobby says, looking confused at Dean’s response. ‘Don’t take it to heart that she didn’t visit you, boy. You know what she’s like.’  
‘Yeah,’ he faintly replied, and then, louder, ‘Sorry, uh – coma, what was she like again?’  
Bobby smiled sympathetically at him. ‘She’s very, um, hardworking.’  
Dean looked confused and Bobby hung his head in resignation.  
‘She works,’ he said, ‘a lot.’  
‘I know what hardworking means, Bobby,’ Dean replied, sarcasm evident in his tone.  
‘What do you remember, Dean?’ Bobby tried.  
‘She was very caring,’ he started. ‘I remember her being loving and warm and, just, mum.’  
He found himself smiling at the memory of his mother.  
‘Well, this is certainly a different tone from the last time we spoke about her,’ Bobby laughed.  
‘Sorry?’  
‘You were always complaining about her, boy,’ Bobby reminded him. ‘About how she was always working and never made time for ya.’   
‘I really said that?’ Dean asked, shocked that he could ever complain about his mother. This was a different Mary, though. This was the Mary who wasn’t raised a hunter, who didn’t lose her boyfriend and sell out her kid for him to be revived, this wasn’t Mary Winchester – this was Mary Wesson-Smith.  
Who, apparently, is a shit mother.  
‘Do you know when she gets back?’ Dean asked.  
Bobby worried his lip in thought. ‘I think it’s next month, kid.’  
Dean nodded and thanked him, and took this as a good time to leave. 

Stepping out of the office, Dean let out a shaky breath and leaned against the wall.  
‘C’mon, Winchester,’ he muttered to himself, ‘man up.’  
His body ignored his demands as his heart rate began to speed up, his palms turning clammy and his forehead perspiring. He looked up to see a door labelled ‘Toilets’.  
Perfect, he thought as he quickly dragged his feet towards the bathroom, collapsing into the door and running straight for the sink. He turned the tap to the coldest it could go and scooped up as much as his shaking hands could hold and splashed himself in the face with it.

His whole body flinched in disgust as the icy liquid slapped him, multiple droplets running down his chest.  
‘Okay,’ he said to his reflection. ‘You are Dean Smith, you work in Finance. Your boss is Bobby Singer and your mother is an apparently an asshole. You have a loving father and a caring brother, and your own apartment.’  
He was trying to convince himself that this was his life, but he couldn’t shake the nagging feelings that no, he was Dean Winchester, who hunts Demons. Bobby Singer is his uncle and friend and his mother was a caring and wonderful, and dead, woman. His father was the asshole and his brother was – actually he was caring in both worlds.  
He didn’t want to be Dean Smith. The past ten years of his life, crammed into three months of a comatose dream, seemed so real. How could he just move on after everything he’d seen? He’d watched people he loved die. He’d seen the world fall apart, more times than he should have.   
Is coma PTSD a thing?   
Could he not move on from it cause of that? The nurse had said that he would be back to normal in a few weeks, and yes, he had accepted the truth – but he didn’t like it.  
His phone buzzed in his pocket and he whipped it out.   
Sam was calling.  
‘Sammy,’ he said automatically, a smile forming on his lips.  
‘Hey, Dean,’ his brother replied. ‘How you doing - first day back on the job?’  
‘I’ve been better,’ Dean replied. ‘But I’ll live.’  
‘How comforting,’ Sam replied, sarcasm in his voice.  
‘Why did you call?’   
‘I’m having a get together tonight,’ Sam said. ‘Me, Jess, Charlie and Kevin.’  
He knew that Jess was alive, and that fact was probably the best news he had heard since waking (minus the fact that he was alive).   
‘And?’  
Sam sighed. ‘And I want you to come, bitch.’  
‘Jerk,’ Dean quipped back, smirking.  
‘Will you come?’  
‘Wouldn’t miss it, Sammy,’ Dean replied.  
They said their farewells and Sam gave him a time to come over, before hanging up.

Seven O’clock rolled around very slowly, due to the dragging nine-to-five shift Dean worked. But, it came none the less. Dean arrived outside Sam’s flat fifteen minutes early, wearing a loose flannel shirt (it turns out Dean Smith doesn’t wear flannel, so Dean had gone out to stock up so as not to go insane or suffocate in the multiple monkey suits and white button ups Dean Smith owned), a blue t-shirt and baggy denim jeans.   
‘Dean,’ Jess cried as she swung the door open. She grabbed him and pulled him into a tight hug, and if Dean wasn’t so much of a man, he would admit was kind of painful.   
‘Jess,’ he said affectionately, pulling away and taking her in. She had her blonde curls pulled into a loose messy bun, a cropped t-shirt and high-waisted black skinny jeans on. If Dean didn’t know how much Sammy loved this girl (or if he wasn’t sporting a tiny crush on a fictional guy) he would totally flirt with her right now.  
Sam appeared behind her, wrapping his arm around her shoulder and pulling her into a one armed hug.  
‘You look different,’ was Sam’s greeting.  
‘Gee thanks,’ Dean snapped back, rolling his eyes. Sam joined in with the eye rolling, before pulling away from Jess and gesturing for Dean to follow him.  
He followed suit as Sam led him into the kitchen. Sam rested against the lip of the sink, following Dean’s movements as he started to prod nearly everything in the room. He was fondling a fake pear (‘seriously?’ he’d said, to which Sam responded with ‘that was a gift from you, asshole!’) when Sam moved from his position by the sink to directly in front of Dean.  
‘How are you doing?’ he asked softly.  
‘No chick flick moments, Sammy,’ he replied, holding up a hand.  
Sam sighed. ‘Dean, you’re acting completely different!’  
Dean slapped a hand down on his chest in mock pain. ‘How dare you suggest such a thing!’  
‘The flannels, the way you talk, the fact that you call me Sammy now,’ Sam listed, exasperatedly. ‘I don’t get it!’  
‘I’m not sure if you remember, Sam, but I was in a coma for like three months so apologises if I’m not up to Sam Wesson’s standard,’ Dean barked.  
‘Why do you keep saying my last name like that?’ Sam snapped back.  
‘Because!’ Dean yelled, his heart racing. He saw Sam’s shoulders sag and he placed an arm on Dean’s shoulder.  
‘Because what, Dean?’ he pleaded. Dean scoffed, shrugging Sam’s hand off.  
‘Forget about it,’ he muttered, before departing the kitchen into the living room. Kevin was sitting there, deep in conversation with Jess about something.  
‘Hey, Kevin,’ Dean greeted. ‘Didn’t know you were here yet.’  
‘Dean,’ Kevin replied, nodding his head at the older brother as Sam entered the room.  
A minute later, Charlie was sauntering into the room herself, her red hair tied up in a pony tail and sporting a Harry Potter t-shirt.  
‘What’s up, bitches,’ she quipped, falling onto the couch in the space beside Dean.  
A chorus of ‘hey’ filled the room as they all greeted their friend.   
‘Who wants to watch a horror?’ Charlie said, hey face moulding into one of mischief. The room groaned, but no one attempted to stop her as she inserted ‘Paranormal goings-on’ into the DVD player. Sam killed the lights, so that they were submerged in darkness, the dim TV screen being the only source of light.   
‘Our house was built on Indian burial grounds,’ the woman on the TV says.  
Dean groans.  
‘Hey, Sammy – you remember last time we heard that; insects everywhere,’ he laughed fondly at the memory and turned to Sam expecting the same fond look, except he was greeted with the confused expressions of Sam, Jess, Kevin and Charlie.  
‘What?’ Sam quizzed.  
‘Uh,’ Dean faltered, ‘nothing.’  
The group took that as a suitable response, probably mainly due to the fact that no one understood what the fuck was going on with the older brother.  
The movie was somewhat enjoyable, if Dean ignored all the inaccuracies he found.  
‘Don’t go in there!’  
‘What an idiot!’  
‘Salt n’ Burn that bitch!’  
‘No one can be that stupid, right?’  
They were about 40-minutes in, when someone whacked Dean over the head with a bottle of Lemonade as he rattled on about how ‘it definitely wasn’t a vengeful spirit’ and that it was ‘obviously a poltergeist’ because ‘trust me, they would be dead by now if it was.’  
‘Shut the fuck up, Smith,’ Charlie whined. Dean blushed, feeling somewhat bashful, but took her orders and didn’t talk again till the credits rolled.  
‘That was a good movie,’ Jess commented.   
‘Sure, if you ignore every single detail,’ Dean laughed.   
Jess looked to Sam for an explanation for his brothers’ brashness.  
Sam sighed. ‘He thinks that he’s a- what was it again Dean?’  
‘A hunter,’ Dean muttered, feeling embarrassed and blushing again.  
‘Right; he thinks he’s a hunter and that me and him used to hunt demons or whatever.’  
Jess smiled sympathetically at Dean. ‘You know, my Uncle was in a coma, he woke up speaking fluent French for a month. It will pass, don’t worry.’  
Dean just grunted.  
‘He attended therapy,’ Dean heard Jess begin to say. ‘It definitely helped him recover faster. Dean, why don’t you try it?’  
‘Nuh uh, sweetie,’ he laughed. ‘I don’t do therapy.’  
She flinched a little at the pet name, but brushed it off and trying to continue smiling sweetly at Dean. He could tell she was beginning to struggle.  
‘That’s a great idea, Jess,’ Sam beamed down at his girlfriend. He turned to face his brother. ‘At least try it. One session is all I ask.’  
Dean could feel the argument brewing in his throat, but his brother was giving him that stupid puppy-dog face and really, that’s just unfair.  
He sighed heavily. ‘Fine, but don’t think I’m gonna want to braid your hair and talk about feelings afterwards!’  
Sam beamed down at him. ‘Thank you, Dean.’


	3. What a 'taxing' situation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas nodded, looking down. ‘I’m afraid to say I am only here due for pleasure.’  
> Dean felt confused. ‘Pleasure?’  
> Cas looked away, uncomfortable and Dean felt a tug of pride (‘Hah,’ he thought. ‘I actually made him look away for once.’)  
> ‘I,’ he started, ‘I, um, missed you.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I probably shouldn't be posting three chapters in a day, but, like, I've completely lost control of my life and I'm eating yoghurt with a fork.  
> I know, I'm so hardcore.

Dean found himself stumbling into his apartment, only slightly incoherent, at one in the morning. He pressed the palm of his hand into his eye, and rubbed tiredly, before dragging his hand down the side of his face, groaning.  
He collapsed into bed and fell asleep almost instantly.

Cas was staring at him.  
‘Jesus, Cas!’ Dean cried out. ‘How many times do I have to tell you; it’s creepy!’   
‘My apologies, Dean,’ Castiel said sincerely. ‘I didn’t realise.’  
Dean took a moment to process that.  
‘How can you not realise its creepy?’ He said finally. ‘You’re watching me fucking sleep, man.’  
‘Again, I apologies.’  
Dean pulled himself up from the couch, knocking over a, fortunately, empty beer bottle.  
‘Is everything okay, Cas?’ Dean asked once he was facing him. Cas stared at him intently, which was a common occurrence, that, after a year, no longer made Dean as uncomfortable. Even so, it was still somewhat unnerving.  
He stared back, trying to match the angels intense gaze. To no avail, it would seem, as he found himself bucking under the force of his eyes, tugging them away.  
‘Cas?’ Dean prompted.  
Cas nodded, looking down. ‘I’m afraid to say I am only here due for pleasure.’  
Dean felt confused. ‘Pleasure?’  
Cas looked away, uncomfortable and Dean felt a tug of pride (‘Hah,’ he thought. ‘I actually made him look away for once.’)  
‘I,’ he started, ‘I, um, missed you.’  
Dean felt his lips pull into a shit-eating grin.   
‘Didn’t know you were capable of that,’ he joked. A flash of pain flickered on the angels face. Dean instantly felt bad.  
‘Sorry, Cas,’ he said softly. ‘I missed you, too.’  
He wasn’t lying when he said that. He hadn’t seen Cas in almost three weeks. It wasn’t unusual for Cas to disappear for so long; with the whole heaven Vs hell thing constantly going on and he’d be kidding himself if he hadn’t thought about praying to the guy once or twice (or, like, fifteen times). But he hadn’t wanted to distract him.  
‘Dean, I need to tell you something,’ Cas said quickly, his words racing his mouth.  
Dean took a step forward, placing his hand on the angels shoulder and giving it a squeeze as a gesture to continue.  
‘Dean,’ he began to say …

‘Shit!’ Dean cried as he sat up in bed with a jolt. His hands were clammy and he could feel the thin cotton of his shirt sticking to his back.  
He fell forward into his hands, cursing as he did so.   
What the hell was Cas going to say?  
He swore at himself for waking up and taking away to chance to hear whatever goddamn thing it was that Cas had been desperate to tell him.   
He looked up from his hands to the clock by the side of his bed.   
It read 04:47.  
He cursed again. He had to be up in two hours. Was there any point going back to sleep, he thought. Honestly, he doubted that he could, even if he tried.  
He threw the covers off of him, the cold air of the apartment greeting his clammy frame. He shivered as he pulled himself up, leaning down and picking up the flannel he had discarded only three and a half hours ago on the floor.  
The soft cotton of the shirt was comforting to Dean. It still smelt like shopping centre’s, but he didn’t mind.  
He softly padded across his room and into the hall, switching the light switch on when he came upon it. As an automatic response, he wandered over to the coffee machine, brewing himself a nice hot cup of wake-me-the-fuck-up.  
Cas liked coffee, he found himself thinking. He said that it had been his favourite form on molecules. Dean started laughing at the memory, even though those words had been delivered from a fabricated life in a dream. The laughing ceased quickly after that, leaving Dean feeling empty inside.  
He really shouldn’t be feeling this way about this Castiel. Ignoring the fact that he was fictional, Cas was also a guy - a very male guy.   
A very male guy with stubble, and short messy hair, blue eyes and toned arms and shit – Dean had a fucking boner.  
His next argument was going to be that he wasn’t attracted to guys, but it seemed like an empty point to make at this particular moment.  
‘Can you not?’ he pleaded with the offending tent in his boxers. He continued to drink his coffee, trying to ignore his obvious sign of arousal. This was just perfect.  
He needed a shower.

He turned the shower to the coldest it could go, without killing Dean and hopped him. He gave a slight start as the water hit his skin, but slowly the numb feeling of icy water running across his body turned somewhat comforting.  
‘How emo,’ he said to himself, huffing. He reached for the bar of soap and began to lather himself up. He tried not to touch his dick with the soap, hoping that the cold water would have sorted that issue out. The world was out to get him it would seem.  
He looked down at his dick, sighing again, and then taking himself in his hands.

Despite just showering, Dean felt very dirty. He couldn’t look himself in the eye as he got out of the shower, wrapping a towel around his lower half. He tried not to think about what had just happened as he dressed himself. He especially tried not to think about how he’d come with blue eyes on his mind and Cas’ name on his lips.  
He had work that day, so he was dressed in one of his multiple white shirts and monkey suit combos. He debated wearing a tie, and decided against. He looked stupid enough as it was, and at least this way he could pull of the Tony Stark playboy look.   
By the time he was dressed and fed, and showered, it was only 05:15.  
This was already looking to be a long day.   
He found himself scouring the internet. He successfully killed at least half an hour watching cat videos, before deciding to log onto Facebook.  
He had a notification and suddenly his heart went tight.   
‘Okay,’ he breathed out. ‘This is either Farmville or Anna Milton.’  
Shakily, he clicked on the tiny orb with the red ‘1’ beside it.  
ANNA MILTON HAS ACCEPTED YOUR FRIEND REQUEST. WRITE ON HER WALL.  
Dean gave a loud whoop, punching the air triumphantly.  
He quickly clicked on her account and zoomed over to the friend list. He scrolled down to the ‘C’ column.  
There was nothing.  
Well, there was something. But that something was just a man named Conner O’Conner. If Dean wasn’t feeling so heartbroken, he would have laughed at the name. But, beside Conner O’Conner, the ‘C’ list was empty.   
Maybe they weren’t related after all. Dean felt hopeless. How the hell would he find Cas now?

Dean arrived at work late. This was of course due to the stupid Honda. It hadn’t done anything in particular to cause his lateness, but out of resentment, Dean was intent on blaming it.  
‘Hey, Dean,’ Charlie called out from her booth. She stuck out her hand for a high five and Dean smacked his hand down onto hers, a loud slap sounding out.  
‘Ouch!’ she cried out. ‘I assumed you’d be weaker than the movie version of Ginny Weasley after the whole coma thing.’  
Dean winked at her. ‘Nah, Charlie. What’s a coma to a god? But a mere nap.’  
Charlie rolled her eyes at him. ‘Get to work, Smith. I don’t know why Singer hasn’t fired you yet.’  
‘I like to think it’s due to my perky nipples,’ he quipped. She whacked him hard on the arm and he laughed, rubbing her head and working his way over to his own booth.   
He threw himself onto his chair and dragged himself closer to his desk. He pulled up his emails, checking his work load for the day.  
Ah. Taxes, taxes and more taxes.   
How exciting.


	4. Mens Health

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is kinda darker than the rest. Time to get on the feels train

The day was unsurprisingly uneventful. Fergus had appeared multiple times with the sole purpose of driving Dean fucking insane, Charlie had been darting all over the office, slapping Dean playfully every time she rushed past him and Bobby kept giving him meaningful and pitiful looks every Dean walked past his office to get to the bathroom.  
The only eventful thing due in that day was the goddamn therapy session Sam had booked him into. Dean had been honestly surprised when Sam had texted him the information. He assumed that it took a little bit of processing time before you could get an actual session. But then again, when your brother is a hot shot lawyer, there isn’t a lot he can’t do.  
The session was scheduled for 5 O’clock, so Dean would have to leave early – the only plus side to this idiotic situation, he’d thought. 

He’d emailed Bobby earlier in the day, informing him of this, so when the clock showed half four he waved goodbye to Bobby and received a nod in return.  
The session was located a 20 minute drive south from Lawrence. Dean jumped into the baby blue Honda (‘Don’t think of Cas’ eyes, don’t think of Cas’ eyes,’ he’d muttered to himself in a mantra). He jammed the keys home, and the engine whirred into life. The sound was in by no means in comparisons to the sexy purr of the impala, but it would have to make do. He pulled out of the spot he was parked in, and pressed play on the CD player. The Kinks began to play, and whilst Dean Smith didn’t have the best taste in music – this wasn’t half bad.  
It was so “not half bad”, that Dean had already memorised the words and was singing along very loudly and very out of tune as the track played.  
‘Cause he’s all so good,’ he busted out, ‘and he’s all so fineee – and he’s all so healthy in his body and his mind.’  
Two Kink songs and a Belle and Sebastian album later, he was pulling up outside the Therapy place. He killed the track and the engine and sat, staring at his wheel for a solid minute.

‘C’mon, Dean,’ he encouraged himself. ‘Do it for Sammy.’  
In all honestly, someone could say ‘do it for Sammy’ and Dean would let a scorpion fuck him in the ass, so this was no different.  
He went to unbuckle his seat belt, before realising he wasn’t wearing one.  
‘Seriously?’ He snapped at himself. ‘This is what got you in this mess in the first place!’  
He got out the car, slamming the door shut behind him and walking up the entrance of the building. His heart began to beat very quickly in his chest, and he took a shaky breath in, trying to steady his palpitations.  
Post-coma Dean hadn’t been good at talking about feelings, but the Dean now – was even worse. This was going to be the most difficult hour of his life.  
He walked into the building, strutting his bow legs and trying to emit as much fake-confidence as he could. He placed a hand down on the reception desk and shot the lady behind a dazzling smile.  
It wasn’t returned. 

‘Name?’ She barked out coldly.  
‘Uh,’ Dean said, a little taken aback, ‘Smith. Dean Smith.’  
She began typing into her computer. A few moments later and Dean was beginning to wonder if she had forgotten about him. He coughed quietly and she glared up at him.  
‘Take a seat,’ she demanded.  
He nodded his thanks, and pulled his hand away from the desk, walking over to the waiting area. The area was mainly empty, minus one very distressed looking man.  
He looked as if he were about to burst into tears. Dean was very sure as to sit as far away from the man as possible. In front of was an array of Men’s Health magazines and dated issues of Vogue.  
Dean found himself zoning in on the cover of the Men’s Health magazine. The model on the front was shirtless, with defined muscles – not too bulky, though – and black messy hair. He had a tiny bit of stubble, and a small tattoo on his left hip bone. If it wasn’t for his deep brown eyes, Dean would have thought that he resembled Cas almost. 

‘Dean Smith,’ a male’s voice rang out. Dean jumped in surprise, tearing his eyes away from the half naked man on the magazine to face an aging man, with salt and pepper hair and a tweed jacket.  
‘Come with me,’ he said, his voice sounding friendly and warm. Dean felt himself relax as he stood up, walking towards the other man. That reason in itself was probably why he was a therapist.  
They reached a room, not to far away from the waiting room. The man opened it and gestured for Dean to follow. He was surprised when he found the room to be cosy and warm. He had expected a completely bare, white room with two plastic seats and nothing else. The room was painted a warm beige, and the floor was wooden oak, with a green threadbare rug – much like Bobby’s, except this one actually suited the room. There were two chairs, but they were both large leather loungers, stuffed with muted earthy coloured pillows. A lamp was placed in the far right corner, illuminating the room in a soft glow. A candle was placed on a coffee table, between the two chairs and was flickering softly, filling the room with the soothing smell of lavender.

‘Nice place,’ Dean commented.  
The man smiled at him, taking a seat in one of the chairs and motioned for Dean to do the same.  
‘I’m Daniel Mora,’ he greeted, extending a hand.  
Dean took it and shook. ‘Dean Smith.’  
Daniel smiled again, he seemed to do that a lot, and leaned back in his chair.  
‘Why are you here, Dean?’ He asked.  
Dean rubbed a hand up and down is jittery leg. ‘Brother.’  
‘What does your brother have to do with this?’ he prompted softly.  
‘Worried about me,’ Dean mumbled weakly.  
‘And why is that, do you think?’  
Dean let out a sigh.  
‘I was in a coma,’ he began.  
Daniel nodded at this. Dean looked him in the eye and reluctantly continued.  
‘I had a vivid dream, like crazy vivid,’ he said. ‘And not like the vivid you’re thinking about, like, dude, I could swear it was real it was so vivid.’  
‘That can be common,’ Daniel said, almost patronizingly, ‘especially for coma patients.’  
‘I was a hunter,’ Dean started. ‘Me and my brother, Sammy -’  
‘The same brother who was worried about you?’ he interrupted.  
Dean felt slightly agitated by the intrusion. ‘Yes, that one.’  
‘Go on.’

‘We were raised hunters. Our mother was killed by a yellow eyed demon; who bled into my brothers mouth and caused him to have these weird psychic powers when he was older. Our dad was dead set on avenging our mum, so he spent twenty-six years trying to hunt him down. We managed to, in the end. I mean, after Sam was killed by this asshole, and I sold my soul to bring him back and oh boy – did that start some shit.’

Dean looked up at Daniel, after realizing he’d been talking very quickly and for quite a long period of time.  
Daniel was staring at him, a slight look of shock on his face. His professional demeanor had obviously been attacked by Dean’s story. He coughed suddenly, plastering another smile on his face.  
‘That sounds like quite a dream, Mr. Smith, do go on,’ he said, weaker than before.  
Dean worried his lip. ‘Uh, yeah, so I sold my soul. Sam was like, reborn, or whatever, so I had him back. But, he was, like, canoodling with a demon – Ruby, that was her name.  
‘And I was like, majorly pissed; cause, like, what the fuck man. Sleeping with a demon breaks like a dozen bro code rules. Never mind. He kept telling me that he was only doing it to try and get me my soul back; which was sweet, but ultimately pointless as I went to hell anyway – and that’s when I met Castiel …’  
His voice wavered slightly as he said the angel’s name. The change in his tone did not go unnoticed by Daniel, as he leaned forward, intently.  
‘Who is Castiel?’ He inquired gently.  
Dean looked down. He couldn’t talk about Castiel to this man. All he would tell him is that he wasn’t real, and Dean couldn’t bear to hear that, despite knowing it was true.  
‘Dean,’ Daniel said, almost a whisper, ‘tell me about Castiel.’  
Dean laughed, it was a cold laugh, more like a bark. ‘I can’t’.  
‘Why not?’  
‘Because you’ll tell me he isn’t real,’ Dean murmured.  
‘Why do you want him to be real, Dean?’ Daniel said.  
‘I can’t,’ Dean choked out. ‘I can’t talk about him, I’m sorry.’  
Daniel nodded. ‘That’s okay, Dean, another time.’  
Dean moved his head in slow agreement.  
‘Do you want to finish the story?’  
‘Might as well,’ Dean laughed, trying to shake the uneasy feeling in his stomach. ‘So, I got saved from hell. Everyone kept trying to stab me, understandable, I had been dead for four months, still, though. Sam was still sleeping with Ruby, but was know drinking fucking demon blood. That all led to some pretty shit going-downs: i.e, the apocalypse.  
‘Anyway, apparently, me and my brother were meant to be the vessels for Michael and Lucifer – the arch angels. But I was like, no way, but Sam was like – fine. So then he goes ahead and accepts Lucifer, and then tries to kill me. I know, rude as hell. But then we have a moment and he jumps into hell, with Lucifer and Michael and that’s when I woke up.’

‘Okay,’ Daniel said. ‘That’s one hell on a vivid dream.’  
Dean laughed again, nodding his head comically.  
‘Tell me about your life – your real life, that is,’ Daniel prompted.  
‘Right,’ Dean replied. His memories of Dean Smith were mostly back. It had taken a lot of Sam holding up pictures of their family and pointing frantically, but he’d gotten there.  
‘My mum works abroad a lot, she’s a producer,’ Dean started. ‘She wasn’t around much when we were kids – my dad raised us, mainly. I’ve always had a good relationship with my brother. I like to think I’m the reason he got into college,’ Dean smiles. ‘My dad didn’t want him too, said it was a waste of time. But I knew Sammy was smart, I knew he could do it. Dad refused to pay for his tuition, so I got a job at the garage to try and wrangle up some dosh, you know. Waste of time – kid got in with a full scholarship.’  
‘You must be very proud of him,’ Daniel comments.  
Dean smiled fondly. ‘I really am.’  
‘Tell me about yourself.’  
‘I’m an Aquarius, I like long walks on the beach and sunsets,’ Dean quips, winking. Daniel coughs uncomfortably and looks away.  
‘No, but, uh,’ Dean quickly says, trying to break the awkward atmosphere he’d created. ‘I’m an accountant. I hate my job. I hate my car. I hate my flat and I hate my last name.’  
Daniel nods at this. ‘Do you want to know what your dream means, Dean?’  
‘Sure,’ Dean says, uncertainly.  
‘Your mother died in the dream, because you were projecting how you felt in your childhood. She was barely around and was practically a ghost in your family. Your dad trying to avenge her death is your dad trying to make up for her absence. This “yellow-eyes” probably represents your mother’s job – it took her away, and as for the bleeding into your brother’s mouth; that just represents how her absence tainted your childhood, and affected you growing up, also.’  
Dean felt his whole body tense as Daniel rattled through his brain, picking him apart.  
‘You became a hunter because in the real world you crave danger and excitement. The fact that you hunt demons may mean that you are trying to deal with some personal ones. How comfortable are you with your sexuality?’  
Dean coughed suddenly, choking on the breathe he had just taken. ‘What?’  
Daniels face remained stoic as he repeated the question.  
‘I’m straight,’ Dean replied weakly.  
‘I’m not going to judge you, Dean.’  
Dean’s eyes went wide, his whole body rigid and the air around him felt way too constricting. He tried not to think about his sexuality all too much. He tried not to think about the way he would sometimes watch the men in the porn’s he watched, instead of the women (he’d told himself that he was just checking to see if he was doing the right moves, is all) or the fact that he sometimes came thinking of hard muscles instead of soft curves. He tried not to think about the fact he would check out guy’s ass’ in bars or blush slightly if a cute guy ever approached him.  
He was straight and that was it.  
‘What does it matter anyway?’ Dean snapped defensively. Daniel seemed to have registered that he’d struck a nerve and placed his hands up in mock surrender.  
‘There’s no shame in being attracted to the same gender,’ he soothed.  
‘I know, but I’m not!’ Dean retorted.  
‘What about Castiel?’ Daniel said, his eyebrow rising slightly.  
Dean tried to whip up a response, but all that came out were incoherent noises.  
‘Are you in love with Castiel, Dean?’  
Dean stared at the man, his gaze soft compared to Dean’s narrow one. He watched as Daniel’s chest moved up and down slowly, and he tried to match his breathing with the man opposite. He looked away for a moment, biting his lip and taking in a deep breath.

‘I don’t know,’ was all he could say.  
‘Tell me about him.’  
Dean looked up, and was ashamed to say that there were tears pricking at his eyes.  
‘He saved me,’ he whispered. ‘Not just from hell – he saved me over and over again. When I lost Sam, he was there. I think I would have killed myself if he hadn’t been there.’  
Dean realised he was smiling affectingly as he spoke about the angel.  
‘He always wore that stupid trench coat, that was, like, three sizes too big. His tie was always the wrong way wrong and his hair always stood up like he’d just gone four rounds in the sack.’  
‘Why do you think he’s not real, Dean?’  
Dean looked up at him. ‘He just can’t be.’  
‘Everyone else in your dream is real, though,’ Daniel reminded him.  
‘But Cas’ is -’ he broke off, not even knowing how to describe Cas. ‘He just doesn’t.’  
‘Don’t give up hope,’ Daniel said, quietly. ‘If you ask me, I think he’s out there.’  
Dean smiled up at him. ‘Thank you.’  
Their session had five more minutes to go, but Dean didn’t feel like he could sit there anymore. He thanked the man again, with the false promise of returning and left the room. For the first time since Anna Milton, he felt hope.  
Hope that his angel was out there.


	5. Johnnie Walker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean Winchester can hold his liquor, Dean Smith cannot.

Dean was driving home, whilst the cloud's tears drenched the exterior of the car. The rush hour had passed, so he was driving on a reasonably open road. But the frequent use of windscreen wipers meant that he could not see the road as clearly as he would have liked to. The radio was off. The only noise was the low hum of the exhaust and the sound of the rain beating against the roof.

Dean got home around seven. He pulled his car up outside his flat, then stuck his key in the door and entered the tenements. He lived near his office; the view itself was amazing, the houses, on the other hand, weren’t. Across from his block of flats, stood a newer, more modern studio; bright white, illuminated with blue and silver. If he could afford it, he would move there in a flash. But being an accountant didn’t pay much, enough to live on, with a bit to spare, but not enough for a fancy apartment like those. He threw his keys into their bowl, skimming the rim before falling in with a faint clunk. He walked over to the fridge and pulled out a beer. Condensation trickled down the side of the bottle, moistening the palm of Dean’s hand as he held it. He took a swig of the drink, relishing on the sensation of the bitter liquid hitting the back of his throat.

The lights flashed dimly; Dean automatically went into hunter mode for a split second before remembering that he had been meaning to repair the wire in them, but had never gotten around to it. He switched the T.V on. There was a few re-runs of old comedy shows, ones that had been repeated so much that the punch lines had aged as bad as the actors. He stared at the screen, not watching, just staring.  
Daniel had been right. Everyone else in Dean’s dream had been real – they were all people who Dean knew and who had affected his life.  
‘Urgh,’ Dean groaned, ‘I need a drink.’  
He was holding a bottle in his hand, but he didn’t want just a few bottles of brew, he wanted to get good old fashioned drunk.

He left his apartment, taking only his house keys as he planned on drinking past the point of legally being allowed to drive. To his luck, a heavy shot of rain was falling from the heavens. In a matter of minutes, Dean was soaked to the skin, his dirty blonde hair plastered to his forehead. Dean grunted, turning his collar up against the elements. He had his head down, eyeing his feet as he quickly rushed to Ol’Scots, a knock off Scottish pub two blocks away.  
The pub was warm and loud when he entered. He could hear bagpipes in the background over the strident laughter coming from all corners of the establishment. The Saltire was hanging from behind the bar top, framed by shelves of luxurious whiskeys and fine ales. The flags vibrant blue background highlighted the white cross it bore on the front. It was the only real source of colour in the place. The rest of the bar wore a muted theme of brown leather jackets and wooden table tops. Dean marched over to the bar, sitting down on the red velvet barstool. The fabric felt crusty under his jeans; probably dried up from the amount of liqueur that had been spilt on it.

‘What will it be for ya laddie?’ the bartender asked in the worst Scottish accent one could possibly achieve.  
Dean covered up his sudden laugh with a gruff cough. ‘Whiskey.’  
The bartender raised an eyebrow. ‘You’re in Ol’Scots, lad, we’ve got ole kinda a’ whiskey.’  
‘What would you recommend?’ Dean sighed. He could be arsed with this right now. All he wanted was to get drunk, go home and sleep.  
‘Will Johnnie Walker do you?’ the bartender said, slipping out of their accent momentarily.  
‘Will it get me drunk?’ Dean answered.  
The bartender smirked. ‘Aye, it will.’  
‘Hit me up,’ Dean said, dead panning as the bartender pulled the bottle of golden liquid off the shelf and filled a glass tumbler with it. He gestured to the ice and Dean nodded.  
He placed the drink down with a flourish, almost as if he’d made the whiskey himself instead of merely pouring it into a glass.  
Dean nodded his thanks and took the glass in hand, breathing in the warm nutty fragrance. He looked down at the amber liquid, seeing his own face in return. He looked so tired. It wasn’t a surprise – he hadn’t slept properly since he woke from his coma. He didn’t want to sleep; he knew if he did he would dream of blue eyes and messy black hair. He couldn’t put himself through that if he was trying to get over the guy. Sighing, he put the glass to his lips, taking in the liquid as if he were breathing. It burned on the way down and Dean winced against the sensation.  
He slammed the empty glass down and gestured for the bartender to give him a refill.  
He went through the same motions like clockwork. Pour, drink, refill, pour, drink, etc.  
His words were beginning to slur as he demanded more whiskey and his vision was beginning to swirl.  
‘Alright,’ the bartender began, talking in their real accent this time. ‘You’ve had enough, get on out of here.’  
‘M’fine,’ Dean slurred as he lifted his glass and downed the dregs.  
‘Sure you are, and I’m on broad way – life isn’t always the way we want it. Now get out of my bar before I call someone,’ the bartender growled.  
Dean threw his hands up in mock surrender. ‘A’ hear ya, a’ do. But am’ fine’  
With those words, Dean crumpled, falling off the barstool and landing on the ground.  
He gave a start of surprise, even in his intoxicated state. He looked around the bar, wearing a face of shock.  
‘Now how did I get down here?’ He mumbled. He felt a large hand land on his shoulder pulling him up. Dean spun round to face the man, the world slipping and sliding around him. He was clutching the man’s arm tightly. He was tall and had dark stubble and messy brown hair. He was wearing a flannel shirt and a white crew neck shirt.  
‘Yerr cute,’ Dean slurred, stumbling forward so that he was pressed against the man.  
The man very gently prised him off, leading him over to a stool. He was still holding onto Dean as to make sure he didn’t fall.  
‘You know,’ Dean said to the man in a stage whisper, ‘if I wasn’t so overcome with internalized homophobia and denial; I’d totally make out with you.’  
He burst into a round of giggles, nearly losing his balance again.  
‘Flattered,’ the man said in a voice that didn’t convey that he truly was. ‘We need to get you home, son.’  
The man pulled Dean to his feet and led him to the door.  
‘Where do you live?’ he asked, his voice deep and almost a growl. Dean pointed vaguely in the direction of his flat.  
‘Pier point,’ he garbled, almost inaudibly. He found himself being half dragged half carried to his front door. When he arrived, he pulled out his keys and started trying to jam them into the key whole.  
‘I can’t get it in,’ he cried, almost in tears before laughing again. ‘Don’t usually have that problem, if ya catch my drift.’  
He elbowed the man suggestively in the ribs. He didn’t respond, instead just leant over and took the keys from Dean’s hand and unlocked it.  
‘Aren’t you a gentleman,’ Dean whispered comically. ‘You haven’t tried to kill me, and that mean’s so much to me.’  
The man rolled his eyes. ‘Just – drink some water and sleep, okay?’  
‘Okay, mum,’ he replied, prolonging the ‘m’ sound. He stumbled into his apartment, winking at the man again and slamming the door closed. He tried to walk to his room, but ended up stumbling and falling face down onto his couch.  
He slept there that night.  
Dean didn’t go to work the next day, to say the least. He’d called in with a pounding headache and the excuse that he’d been vomiting; all if which were true, unfortunately for him. He spent the day watching reruns of Doctor Sexy and moping. He also spent the day desperately trying not to think about how he’d flirted with some guy. He couldn’t remember much; just that he’d made a joke about sex and winked a lot. Every time the memory resurfaced he would go bright red and have to curl up in a ball to will the thought away. Dean Smith was never drinking again.

The weekend had arrived, slowly albeit, but it had come none the less. Unfortunately for Dean, he wasn’t able to spend his free time doing whatever the hell it was that Dean Smith did, as he had a check up at the hospital.  
Sam had driven him there. He claimed that he was only doing it to help, but Dean knew he wanted to hear how the therapy session went.  
There was some obscure indie band playing on the radio. Personally, Dean didn’t like it; but Sam was bobbing along and tapping the steering wheel in time to it so he went against complaint.  
‘So,’ Sam said slowly.  
‘The session went fine, Sam,’ Dean rolled his eyes as he replied.  
He wasn’t facing Sam, but he could see his white teeth glowing behind a broad grin.  
‘You going back?’ Sam pestered  
Dean scoffed. ‘No way.’  
The grin vanished quickly. ‘You said it went fine, though.’  
‘It did,’ Dean retorted impatiently.  
‘Then why aren’t you going back?’  
‘Just cause it went fine doesn’t mean it was any help,’ he lied. ‘I don’t want to talk about this anymore.’  
Sam sighed, muttering under his breath, ‘Yeah, you say that a lot.’  
They pulled up outside the hospital before Dean could conjure up a comeback.  
‘Do you want me to come in with you?’ Sam asked, his voice dead panning.  
‘I’m good,’ he reassured him, slapping him on the back and getting out.  
‘I’ll be back in forty five minutes!’ Sam called to him through the open window as he sped off. Dean watched as his brothers’ car drove away onto the main road, before crossing over to the entrance of the hospital.  
The smell of disinfectant was familiar as he walked in. After spending three months sniffing hospital fumes like a junkie, you grow to miss the smell of strong chemicals.  
He walked over to the main desk, the nurse smiled broadly at him.  
‘Dean Smith, right?’ she beamed.  
‘Yeah,’ He said, grinning back. She was cute, with dimpled cheeks and messy brown hair. She was wearing a dark blue set of scrubs and wore a name tag reading ‘Pam Jones’.  
‘If you just fill these out and then take a seat, Dr. Barnes will see you shortly,’ Pam informed him, handing him a form and a pen. He took them, thanking her as he did so and walked over to the nearest ledge he could find.  
The questions were the bog-standard ones. He was quickly done with it and handing it back to Pam with a smile. He took a seat as instructed and sat with his hands on his lap and his legs stretched out wide. Roughly ten minutes later he heard his name being called.

Dr. Barnes led him into a check up suite. It was a lot less cosy than the last room he’d been led into by a wise old man, but it would do.  
‘How are you feeling, Dean,’ Dr. Barnes asked, pulling certain objects from draws for his check up.  
‘Not sure if you heard, but I was recently in a coma,’ Dean quipped.  
Dr. Barnes laughed loudly. ‘Glad to see it hasn’t injured your sense of humour.’  
‘Would appear that way,’ Dean said with an exaggerated wink.  
Dr. Barnes chuckled to himself as he pulled out a small torch to inspect Dean with.  
He gave quiet instructions for where Dean should look as he shone the torch in his eye. Dean obliged, trying to ignore the fact his eyes were beginning to sting painfully as he felt to self conscious to blink.  
‘Looking good, Mr. Smith,’ Barnes said with a nod, putting the torch away and bringing up an object that resembled a small toy hammer. The object was placed in his ear and Barnes protruded another, yet smaller, torch and shone it in his ear. Dean could hear the doctor making some ‘mhm’ sounds and couldn’t work out if those noises were in or against his favour.  
‘Seems in check,’ he said and Dean let out a sigh of relief. The procedures continued; he checked his tongue, his reflexes, his urine (Dean still isn’t sure why) and his balance. When everything proved that Dean wasn’t about to collapse down dead at any given time, the Doctor dismissed him.  
‘That reminds me,’ the doctor blurted out as Dean was halfway through the door. He paused, turning to face the other man.  
‘Do you know if Mr. Novak has gotten in contact with you yet?’ Barnes asked.  
‘I’m sorry, who?’  
Barnes smiled. ‘Ah, yes, I doubt you’d have remembered him.’  
Dean furrowed his brow. ‘Uh, cool, but who is he?’  
‘He was the paramedic that saved your life,’ Barnes informed him.  
‘Why would he have gotten in contact with me?’ Dean inquired. He wasn’t sure if it was protocol for paramedics to do that.  
‘He visited you,’ Barnes said, ‘almost every day. He wanted to know if you were going to be OK.’  
Dean felt his heard thud. Someone would really do that for him? A stranger none the less.  
‘Does he work here?’ Dean asked quickly.  
Barnes shook his head. ‘I’m not sure where he worked, I’m sorry.’  
‘Why does he care?’ Dean asked quietly.  
‘He wasn’t on duty when he rescued you, ‘Barnes said simply. ‘He probably feels responsible for you now.’  
Dean smiled a little bit. ‘Thank you for telling me, I’ll see if I can contact him and you know, thank him and all’  
‘Look after yourself, Dean,’ Barnes replied.  
Dean was half way through leaving, before he spun around to face Barnes again. ‘Sorry,’ he laughed uncomfortably, ‘what was his first name?’  
‘It was Castiel. Castiel Novak.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who is reading this. This is my first fanfiction and it really means a lot to me so thank you :')


	6. I'm coming out (I want to world to know)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean owns some stuff that Sam really doesn't need to know about and learns some stuff he definitely needs to know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who is leaving kudos and commenting. It really does make my day, you honestly have so clue. Bless you all haha

Dean had never ran so fast in his life. His feet slid across the white hospitals tiles, earning him a bark of warning from an elderly scrub nurse. He cried out an apology, but didn’t slow his feet. The automatic doors threw themselves open as Dean came hurtling towards them. He exited the hospital just as Sam was pulling up outside.  
He barely had time to kill the engine before Dean was flinging himself into the passenger door.  
‘Shit!’ Sam cried out alarmingly. ‘Did you just rob that place or something?’  
‘Drive, Sammy!’ Dean commanded. Dean was drumming his fingers on the dashboard impatiently as Sam began to, slowly, pull out from his space.  
‘What’s going on?’ Sam asked once they were on the main road.  
Dean couldn’t hide his glee. ‘Cas is real!’  
‘Cas …?’ Sam trailed off. ‘Sex hair Cas?’  
Dean blushed viciously at Sam’s reference to Dean’s earlier description of the angel.  
‘Uh, yeah,’ he coughed. ‘That one.’  
‘With the blue eyes?’ Sam mocked.  
Dean growled. ‘Yes, Sam, with the blue eyes.’  
‘And the rippling abs?’ Sam teased.  
Dean burned even brighter. ‘I never said that!’  
Sam laughed, low and heartily. ‘Just kidding you on, Dean.’  
Dean glared at his brother, but the menace wasn’t there.  
‘So,’ Sam started, ‘who is this mysterious Cas that has my brothers’ heartstrings in a twist?’  
‘He doesn’t have my heartstrings in a twist,’ Dean barked defensively.  
Sam’s eyes widened at the sudden change of tone. He gave Dean a confounded look.  
‘I was joking, Dean,’ Sam muttered. Dean felt guilt pool in his gut.  
‘Sorry, Sam,’ Dean said. ‘I’m just a little stressed.’   
Sam tapped the steering wheel. ‘I get it, Dean.’  
‘Cas was the paramedic who saved me,’ Dean said, trying to ease the tension in the car.   
‘There was like a whole team of them, why is he so special?’ Sam asked, curiously.  
‘He wasn’t on duty at the time,’ Dean explained. ‘I think he must have helped me before the ambulance arrived.’  
‘If we find the guy we should have him over for dinner,’ Sam stated.  
‘We?’  
Sam nodded. ‘Yes, I’m gonna help you, Dean.’  
‘Why?’ Dean asked.  
Sam sighed. ‘Don’t yell at me this time; but I can see that you really care about this guy. I’m not sure why as you’ve never met him, but you do.’ Sam paused. ‘In the hospital, when you asked about him, you looked so heartbroken when I didn’t know who he was.’  
Dean didn’t know how to reply.  
‘I want you to be happy,’ Sam continued. ‘Call me an optimist, but I feel like this guy could make you happy. I can just sense it, you know?’  
‘Thank you,’ Dean responded simply.  
‘Also, I can tell you are super gay for him, not gonna lie,’ Sam said quickly.  
Dean slapped his arm, hard. ‘Shut up.’  
‘You’re not denying it,’ Sam said with an evil wink, rubbing the spot where Dean had just hit him.   
‘Yeah, cause I can’t be bothered having this conversation with a moose,’ Dean retorted.   
‘Dean,’ Sam said, sounding more serious than he had ever sounded prior. ‘You know I’m not gonna judge you if you like guys?’  
Dean felt conflicted. He could come out right here, right now and tell Sam that he was bisexual; or he could continue to rot away in the closet for another thirty years. He was internally weighing up the pros and cons of coming out. Pro’s included; being happy, being able to pursue relationships with men, being able to act like himself, etc. Cons included; Coming Out™.   
‘My advice is to save that speech for someone who likes guys, Sammy,’ Dean replied coldly. Sam let out a heavy sigh and Dean could honestly say that in that moment, he’d never hated himself more.  
The car ride consisted off little talk, just the hum of the exhaust and tense breathing from the two brothers. Sam pulled up outside Dean’s flat.  
With a grunt, Dean pushed the door open. As he was stepping out he felt a hand land on his arm and pull him back in.  
‘What the hell -’  
‘We’re going to have this fucking conversation whether you like it or not,’ Sam barked, cutting Dean off. Dean just sat there, wide eyes unblinking.  
‘I know, Dean,’ Sam cried. ‘I know you’re bisexual! What I don’t know is why you wont just fucking admit it! Do you think I’m going to hate you, is that it? I don’t care who you date – I want you to be honest with me; and with yourself!’  
There was a stunned silence in the car. Sam looked shocked that those words had come out of his mouth, and Dean looked shocked that those words had met his ears.  
All Dean could say in that moment was, ‘how long have you known?’  
Sam threw his hands up. ‘I don’t know – fifteen years, maybe.’  
‘Fifteen years?’ Dean gasped, disbelieving.  
‘It was a family computer, Dean,’ Sam explained with a smirk.  
Dean burned scarlet. ‘I didn’t – I never, uh, shut up.’  
Sam laughed quietly, shaking his head. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’  
Dean shrugged softly. ‘I was trying not to think about it.’  
‘You can’t lie to yourself, Dean,’ Sam whispered gently.  
Dean scoffed. ‘You think I don’t know that? I’m like – the master of knowing that lying to yourself does jack shit.’  
‘You deserve to be happy, Dean,’ Sam stated.  
Dean laughed, but the laughter didn’t reach his eyes and the noise was empty and bitter.  
‘You were given another chance,’ Sam continued, wide eyes and staring at Dean. ‘All the doctors said you were going to die, but you didn’t. That car crash should have killed you, Dean. But here you are – this is your second chance, and you can use it to be honest with yourself.’  
‘What do you want me to do, Sam,’ Dean said, exasperatedly.  
‘Accept yourself.’  
Dean sighed. ‘Okay, I’m bisexual, you happy? I like guys. Guys are fucking hot and I own anal beads. Is that what you want?’  
‘Uh,’ Sam said, looking uncomfortable. ‘I didn’t really need to know the, uh, other thing.’   
‘Oh, right,’ Dean muttered. ‘Sorry.’  
‘Thank you.’  
‘For telling you about the anal beads?’  
Sam grimaced. ‘No, uh, lets never talk about that. Thank you for being honest with me.’  
‘No chick flick moments, okay?’  
Sam grinned. ‘Bitch.’  
‘Jerk.’

Dean entered his apartment feeling an odd mixture of nerves, hope and hunger. Coming out to Sam felt like someone had removed a tumour in his brain. His head felt clear for the first time, in a long time. And then there was Castiel - who was real; who’d saved his ass, and then stayed by his side.  
What would he say to Cas when he found him? What if Cas didn’t even like him? What if Dean didn’t even like Cas? He collapsed onto his couch, feeling the heavy weight that had just been lifted return to its spot.  
Ignoring all that, he still had no way of contacting Cas. He knew his name, but that was all. Lawrence wasn’t huge, but it wasn’t small either. There was a population of roughly 90,000 people. One of those 90,000 was Castiel Novak.  
His phone buzzed softly in his pocket.

Moose 14:47  
Called in favour with Ruby gonna see if she can find Cas ;)

Ruby was Sam’s ex-girlfriend. It had ended messy; she’d slept with one of Sam’s friends and broken his heart. She also happened to work at the local police force.

Dean 14:49  
I ever tell you how awesome a brother u are?  
Moose 14:50  
No  
Dean 14:51  
Don’t get used to it

He threw his phone across the room onto the brown leather lounger. It landed with a soft thud, its’ weight causing small dimples in the fabric.   
Dean placed his arms behind his head and relaxed back into the sofa, a smile pulling at his lips.  
He was really going to find Cas.

‘I don’t understand, why do you need so much of the same thing?’ Cas said as Dean placed another six-pack of beer into the trolley.  
‘Because,’ Dean started, ‘It’s for – you know what, I don’t need to explain myself.’  
‘Too much liqueur can cause liver fail,’ Cas reminded him. ‘It can be very painful, or so I hear.’  
Dean laughed, clapping Cas on the shoulder. ‘I’m still standing, right?’  
‘Mainly due to me and my healing properties,’ Cas said, under his breath.  
‘Huh?’  
‘Nothing,’ Cas said with a sheepish smile. Dean found himself smiling back.  
‘You know, you’re kinda cute when you smile,’ Dean charmed.  
Cas blushed aggressively.   
‘Even cuter when you blush,’ Dean said with a wink.  
‘I am an angel of the lord, I am not cute, my true form is the size of the Chysler building,’ Castiel stated, firmly, although was still blushing.  
‘You showing off or something?’ Dean quipped with another wink. Castiel’s cheeks flushed even hotter.  
‘I am just merely stating a fact, Dean,’ Castiel said, lifting his head in a sign of dominance.  
‘You know I love it when you take control,’ Dean joked. ‘My feet get all tingly.’  
Castiel took a step closer. ‘Are you trying to flirt with me, Dean Winchester?’  
Dean looked bashful, tilting his head to the side and shrugging his shoulders. ‘Kinda have been since the first seal was broken; but thanks for noticing now.’  
Subconsciously, Dean had taken a step closer to Castiel, so that they were a fingers’ length apart.  
‘My people skills are a little rusty, so I do apologize for not picking up sooner,’ Castiel said, his voice beginning to trail off. He was staring straight at Dean, his cerulean eyes unwavering. Dean could feel Cas’ hot breath on his lips, as he stared back into the blue void. He was slowly leaning down, closing the distance between them, their lips almost brushing –

Dean awoke with a jolt. He was still lying on the couch, fully dressed in his blue crew neck and denim jeans. It was getting dark out, the sky turning the colour of a week old bruise. The light of the setting sun was bouncing off the windows of the flats across the road, like a thousand eyes blinking quickly.   
Dean pulled his legs over the side of the couch, pushing his arms above his head and feeling his spine click into place. He let out a heavy sigh, squeezing the sleep out of his eyes. He willed himself up off the couch and stumbled over to where his phone was lying.  
He held down the on button and the phone whirred into life. The screen told him that it was half nine and that he had seven messages. 

Moose 18:36  
Pretty sure Ruby got a boob job ngl  
Moose 18:37  
Oh ye might wanna know that Cas lives down at Doc Road (ironic lol) number 5  
Moose 18:38  
If you still care  
Moose 18:39  
Cause you lurve him  
Moose 18:39  
You want to kisss him  
Moose 18:39  
You want to fuckkk him  
Moose 18:40  
You can show him ur anal beads lmao

He had an address. He had Castiels’ address. He could go to him right now.   
He knew that he should think this through. He knew that it was late and that he should shower and should plan what he wanted to say. But Dean wasn’t the smart brother -that was Sam’s job – Dean was the guns blazing one.  
Before any part of him could even begin to argue, he was grabbing his keys and hurriedly typing a quick thanks to Sam.   
He raced out of his house, jumping into his car and pushing the key home. The radio turned on automatically. It was Taylor Swift. Dean was in too much of a hurry to turn it off. Dean was also very into Taylor Swift.  
He drove faster than he’d ever driven, probably breaking about a million speed laws and getting caught on roughly four speed cameras and cutting down two red lights exactly. He made it onto Doc Road in ten minutes.   
The initial adrenaline was beginning to wear off and Dean was left sitting in his car, with the engine killed, staring at Cas’ house. It was a two story house. It was painted white, and the window frames were painted baby blue. Perched on the windowsill were flower boxes, growing vibrant red roses and daisies. The garden outside looked well tended too. The lawn was mown and the hedges neatly trimmed. It looked like something out of a picture book.  
Swallowing down his nerves, Dean opened the car door and began to walk to the front of the house.   
‘You got this, Smith,’ he encouraged himself. He reached the front door too soon for his nerves to catch him as he was placing his fist against the wooden door and knocking.  
He heard a crash from somewhere in the house and then a low ‘shit’. A few moments later the door was swinging open. Dean had dreamed about this face for months, but it was nothing compared to the real thing. Cas’ hair was sticking up around him, almost as if he’d just ran his hands through it only a moment prior. His skin looked soft and creamy, and his cheeks were tinted pink with a light scattering of freckles, only apparent in the harsh glow of the porch light. His lips were pink and slightly chapped in the middle. He looked as if he’d been worrying his lip as one side was more flushed than the other. His brow was furrowed, his thick eyebrows sat above the bluest eyes Dean had ever seen. He knew Cas had blue eyes, but these were unreal. It looked as if someone had drained the colour from the ocean and used it the colour in his eyes.  
He looked beautiful and Dean felt the breath in his body leave him.  
‘Dean?’ Cas said suddenly.  
‘Hey, Castiel.’


	7. You're as hot as this coffee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> time to get gayyyyyyy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this took so long, I've just been in a bit of a shit place recently and was struggling to write bleh

Cas was staring at him in stunned silence, before blurting out ‘how did you find me?’  
Dean blushed bashfully, rubbing the back of his neck with his left hand.  
‘I’m not a stalker or anything,’ he started. Smooth, Smith, Dean thought. ‘My brother’s ex works in the police force and uh – god, I’m really making myself sound like a creep, aren’t I?’  
Cas smiled. ‘It’s probably not the best impression.’  
Cas’ eyes shone when he smiled like that, eye’s crinkling softly in a way that made Dean’s heart melt.  
‘I just really wanted to thank you,’ Dean explained.  
Cas raised an eyebrow. ‘You wanted to thank me at ten O’clock at night?’  
‘Well, you know what they say about thanking people in the late evening,’ Dean said, mock confidence in his ton.  
‘I don’t actually,’ Cas replied playfully.  
Dean shrugged. ‘Yeah, well, neither do I.’  
‘Would you like to come in?’ Cas asked, opening the door wider. Dean happily obliged, stepping past the threshold and into Cas’ home.   
It was warm inside and looked so classically ‘Cas’. He hadn’t given Cas’ interior much thought, but this just seemed to fit him to a T. 

The walls were painted yellow and adorned with paintings and family photos; there was a green couch sitting in the middle of the living room to Dean’s right, which was facing a red threadbare one that was cultivating a hoard of pillows. The pillows ranged from silk with tassels to small cotton ones with a friendly cartoon bee embroidered onto the front. The hallway in which Dean was standing held home to a coat rack, which was fashionably wearing a tan trench coat, a black blazer and a green army jacket. Under his feet sat a woollen rug which was decorated with muted stripes of colour. The floor was hardwood and creaked under the weight of the two men.   
Past Cas and behind a door frame stood a set of staircases, with a white fluffy rug draping over the stairs like a feathery waterfall. Dean couldn’t see past up the stairs, so the upstairs was left a mystery. To Dean’s right, though, was a kitchen. The wooden floors ceased at the doorframe of the kitchen, transmuting into black and white chequered tiles. It was a cliché move for the decorating front, but it fit Cas’ aesthetic anyway. There was a white island in the middle of the kitchen, with a black granite counter perched on top. The counter was embellished with a chopping board, a blue knife and two empty ceramic bowls. It was obvious Cas hadn’t gotten around to cleaning up after making dinner. The faint smell of chilli still lingered in the air. Dean’s stomach rumbled in response. He had slept through dinner, and hadn’t really eaten since lunch time – that being a small meal of a ham and salad sandwich.  
Luckily, Cas didn’t seem to notice Dean’s stomach’s complaints.   
‘You’re looking a lot better than the last time I saw you,’ Cas commented.  
‘I hope so,’ Dean laughed. ‘Last time you saw me I was half dead and bleeding everywhere.’  
‘I saw you after,’ Cas said. He blushed violently, and covered his mouth quickly.   
Dean grinned at him. ‘Dr. Barnes told me; kinda how I knew you existed, actually.’  
‘I sound like such a creep, though,’ Cas cried out, burying his blushing face in his hands  
Dean pointed at himself with his index finger. ‘Dude, I got the police involved just do I could say thank you – I win.’  
Cas looked up from his hands, his steely blue eyes locking with Dean’s. To say that Castiel had blue eyes would be the same as to say the sun was hot; obvious, yes, but not capturing the true fierceness of the star. It was like looking at a supernova exploding, the way they shone and flickered in the light. It was an array of blue, ranging from deep navy to soft sapphire. It was drawing him in the way the river back out by his old house did in summer when the heat got to much and all Dean wanted to do was just fall into the river and break the cobalt surface.  
‘You make a good point, I guess.’ Cas’ eye’s crinkled the way they had done earlier and Dean felt the same pang in his heart. He forced himself to break away from the icy hold of his eyes. He coughed, clearing his throat, but also trying to get a hold of himself.  
‘I heard a crash,’ Dean stated. ‘Was everything okay?’  
Cas’ brow furrowed in confusion for a moment before relaxing into understanding.  
‘Ah, yes, I was surprised and I accidently knocked over a lamp,’ Cas explained. ‘I think I broke it actually.’  
His train of words broke off and a mask of worry grew onto his face as he nibbled on his bottom lip, eyes furrowed once again.

‘You okay, Cas?’  
Cas met Dean’s, and he looked stunned that Dean was standing there.  
‘I’m fine,’ he said softly. ‘But I need to go fix the lamp before Uriel returns.’  
It was Dean’s turn to look confused. ‘Uriel?’  
Cas nodded. ‘He’s my boyfriend.’  
Dean felt his heart stop for a moment. Cas had a boyfriend? In all the versions he’d pictured in his head, this wasn’t one of them. They’d all ended with running off into the sunset, so they weren’t exactly accurate – but this, this was completely unexpected.   
Only ten minutes prior, the world had fed him hope and the prospect of finally being fucking happy. Now, the moment resembled the taste of cold coffee left out after breakfast, waiting to be thrown down the sink in disgust. Dean could see Cas looking at him, a face built into concern. Dean swallowed the lump that had grown in his throat and tried to mould his face into one he hoped was nonchalant and casual.  
‘Oh, cool,’ he said, trying to inject some cheeriness into his tone. It obviously failed as Cas’ brows returned to each other, like magnets pulling at one another, and was looking perplexed and apprehensive again. He was tilting his head which made the whole situation worse.   
‘Uh,’ Dean tried, ‘how long have you guys been going out?’  
Cas sighed heavily. ‘You know, Dean, you seemed like a nice guy – I didn’t peg you as a homophobe.’  
If Dean had been drinking anything, he would have spat it out. ‘What?’  
‘I think you should leave, wouldn’t want my “fag” presence to rub off on you or anything,’ Cas commanded coldly.   
‘I’m not a homophobe, dude,’ Dean tried to console. ‘I was just taken aback is all.’  
Cas still looked sceptical.  
Dean sighed. ‘I’m bisexual, anyway.’  
The sceptical look softened somewhat, but not enough to ease the feeling of panic in Dean’s gut. He didn’t know what to tell the guy. He wasn’t homophobic – the look of distress hadn’t been over the thought of Cas dating a guy. Actually, it was; but not the guy part, just the fact that the guy wasn’t him.   
‘You should go anyway,’ Cas said, softer this time. ‘Uriel will be home soon and he doesn’t like me talking to other people.’

Dean felt a different feeling grow in his gut. The look on Cas’ face was watering the thought, and it was growing rapidly. Cas looked goddamn afraid. That look of fear had been placed there by the mention of upsetting Uriel. He had a niggling suspicion on why he was afraid; but he’d only just met this guy, formally at least, and he didn’t want to overstep any boundaries.  
‘Yeah, it’s late,’ Dean said with a nod, trying to soothe the feeling of wrong in his stomach. Dean made for the door with Cas following behind.  
‘Thank you,’ Dean said suddenly, spinning around. ‘I would have died, you know, if it wasn’t for you.’  
Cas smiled. ‘It’s my job.’  
‘It wasn’t that day, though,’ Dean reminded him.  
‘I couldn’t just let you die.’  
‘You waited, though, why?’  
Cas looked down, looking ashamed. ‘I don’t really know, Dean. I’m sorry.’  
‘You must have had a reason,’ Dean said.  
Cas shrugged. ‘I just wanted to, I guess.’  
Their eyes locked again and neither of them looked away.  
‘You waiting by my bed,’ Dean began, ‘was more than most people I know would have done. Hell, my mum hasn’t even called me yet to see how I am.’  
Cas smiled gently at him; that stupid smile that made Dean’s insides turn to jelly.  
‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ he said. He sounded genuine about it, too.  
‘Nothing you can do about it,’ Dean said with a laugh. Cas nodded in agreement with another soft smile thrown in. Dean turned again to the door, and swung it open, stepping into the night. He was halfway down the path when he heard Cas call out behind him.  
‘When can I see you again?’ he called out.  
Dean spun of his heals, his hands in his pockets and a cocky grin on his face.  
‘Coffee?’ he suggested.  
Cas nodded. ‘Where?’  
‘Roadhouse,’ he said. ‘Meet me there tomorrow at one?’  
Cas grinned. ‘Sure.’

Dean arrived at the roadhouse at exactly ten to one dressed in a blue button down shirt and tight fitting black jeans. They were verging on being skinny jeans, but loose enough so that Dean could deny it if someone asked. His hair was styled, but not in a noticeable way but in a way that looks like he tried (which he did – he spent twenty minutes trying in fact) but not in a desperate way. When he entered the roadhouse he was greeted with a loud wolf whistle from Jo. He shot her a playful glare as he sauntered over to where she stood, wiping down a table.  
‘Looking good, Smith,’ she teased. ‘Hot date?’   
‘No – it’s just an, uh, I’m just meeting a friend,’ he stammered. Jo raised an eyebrow disbelievingly.  
‘I’ve never seen you put this much effort into anything,’ she commented.  
Dean played hurt, placing a hand over his heart and gasping comically.  
She rolled her eyes at him. ‘So, who you meeting? What’s her name?’  
Dean felt his chest constrict at the use of pronouns – her.  
‘Uh, Castiel,’ he mumbled, picking at the already raw skin around his thumb. All his nails had been bitten to the quick almost as if a hungry mouse had gotten to them.  
‘Odd name,’ Jo replied, giving the table another squirt of cleaning product, even though it didn’t really need one. Dean could tell she was procrastinating something.  
‘It’s religious,’ Dean blurted out. ‘Angel of Thursday’s.’  
‘She sounds really cool,’ Jo said sarcastically.  
‘He.’  
‘Huh?’  
‘Cas is a guy.’  
‘Oh.’

Dean would be lying if he said that the face Jo pulled didn’t hurt. It wasn’t an obvious change in expression, but Dean could see the muscles in her jaw tightening and her lips drew into a thin smile.  
‘It’s not a date,’ Dean said quickly, not wanting to taint Jo’s image of him. It wasn’t exactly a perfect image anyway, but he didn’t want it ruined none the less. Jo was like a sister to him.   
‘I know,’ she said. ‘You’re just meeting a friend, I get it.’  
She was rubbing the table with a lot more intensity than before.  
Dean sighed heavily. He was already stressed out of his mind: this wasn’t helping matters in the slightest.  
‘Why are pissed at me?’ He snapped.  
Jo straightened herself upright. She tucked the dirty rag into a loop in her belt and crossed her arms defensively. Dean could see her foot tapping the ground in the bottom of his eye.  
‘I’m not pissed at you,’ she said.  
‘Kinda seems that way, Jo,’ he retorted.  
She sighed, placing a hand on her hip. ‘Dean, I’ve known you for nearly fifteen years.’  
‘Uh huh.’  
‘I don’t know why you couldn’t tell me that you’re bisexual or gay or whatever.’  
Dean took a step back in shock. He had thought that Jo had only reacted badly due to some idiotic phobias she bore. He hadn’t expected this.  
‘If it’s any consolation, I didn’t really except that I was until I woke up from that coma,’ he explained.  
‘I just wish you’d talk to me,’ she said. Dean opened his mouth to reply when he heard the door open and close behind him. Jo looked past his shoulders and grinned maliciously at him.  
‘He’s cute,’ she whispered. Dean felt flustered; he wanted to go over to Cas, but his feet wouldn’t let him move.  
‘Go get ‘im tiger,’ Jo said with a shove. Dean stumbled backwards, barely getting his footing right as he felt a hand grab his shoulder.

‘Hey, let’s try and stay out of A&E for at least another month,’ he heard Cas’ voice growl. Cas’ hand was holding Dean’s shoulder with a tense, but not painful grip. As Dean steadied himself, the grip loosened and Cas, almost reluctantly, removed his hand.  
‘This is a nice place,’ he said, looking around. The roadhouse wasn’t grand, not by any means, but it was quant and cosy and they served the best pancake stack Dean had ever had.   
‘Yeah, my dad’s friend owns the place,’ Dean said, leading them both over to a table as far away from Jo’s prying eyes as possible. It was almost an impossible task as the Roadhouse wasn’t the largest of places.  
‘How are you?’ Cas asked pleasantly, glancing at the menu.  
‘I’m good, didn’t get much sleep last night – was out late looking for some guy who saved my life or whatever,’ Dean replied, tone deadpanned.  
Cas smirked from behind the menu. ‘Is there a list of them?’  
Dean’s lips quirked upwards. ‘Nah, just one - he’s a paramedic, super cute, do you know him?’  
Shit. Dean hadn’t meant to call him cute. Fuck.  
‘I might,’ Cas replied playfully, winking at Dean over the menu. Dean felt his entire face go hot. Wasn’t he meant to be some smooth A+ flirter? He shouldn’t be blushing at someone winking at him.   
‘You should get the pancakes, by the way,’ Dean said, clearing his throat and trying to gain composure.  
Cas made a ‘mhm’ sound and Dean felt his heart clench as Cas’ throat vibrated with the sound. He had a sudden urge to lean over and – woah, let’s not go there, Dean thought.   
Castiel was dressed in a white shirt, the top two buttons were undone, showing off the tanned complexion of his skin. When Castiel moved, his shirt would bunch up and Dean would catch a glimpse of his collar-bones before he readjusted it. Around his neck sat a blue tie, loosely undone and twisted the wrong way. His tan jacket had been discarded over the top of the chair, but he was still wearing the black blazer. He should have looked too formal, but he pulled it off in very nonchalant way.  
He also pulled it off in a super fucking hot way, but those were thoughts for another time (specifically in a dark room late at night).

‘I really shouldn’t be here,’ Cas said suddenly, placing the menu down.  
Woah, where had that come from?  
‘How come?’  
Cas worried his lip. ‘Uriel.’  
‘We’re not doing anything wrong, Cas,’ Dean reminded him. ‘You saved my life, at least let me buy you coffee.’  
Cas looked up at him, those strong blue eyes never wavering. ‘But we were flirting and I liked it.’  
Dean smirked smugly. ‘That’s only because I’m so gosh darned good looking.’  
Cas laughed weakly. ‘This is wrong, though.’  
Dean bit his lip. ‘Look, I’m not going to make you stay. I’m definitely not gonna try and make a move on you, even though you are frustratingly attractive. But I do want to get to know you, and I want to be your friend.’  
‘Thank you, Dean,’ Cas said, with another genuine smile. ‘For the record, I think you are also very attractive. No homo.’  
Jo came over only a second later, waiting to take their order. Cas did as recommended by dean and ordered the pancakes and black coffee. Dean ordered pie (‘Obviously,’ he’d replied when Cas asked him ‘Really, it’s only one?’).   
Jo left, shooting Dean a mischievous wink.  
‘She seems nice,’ Cas commented with a hint of jealousy? Dean couldn’t believe his ears, but Cas sounded honest to god jealous.

‘She’s like a sister to me,’ he stated. ‘Known her since I was about eighteen or whatever.’  
Cas’ features softened at the consolation. ‘How do you guys know each other?’  
‘Like I said, my dad is friends with the owner. Jo is Ellen’s daughter.’  
They spent the wait for the food discussing many small things. They talked about work, and how Cas’ job was so much more interesting than doing taxes. They talked about Sam and how proud Dean was of him.  
‘Reminds me,’ Dean said. ‘He wants to invite you over for dinner – to say thanks and all.  
‘I’d love that.’  
They talked about family and Dean found out about all seven of Cas’ siblings. They sounded a handful, especially Gabriel. They talked about Castiel’s name and why he was called that.  
‘I was born on a Thursday,’ he explained simply. ‘Apparently calling me David or Arthur wasn’t “fitting” enough.’  
They made small talk when the food arrived and Cas praised Dean for his recommendation. As they dug into their food, the chatter lessened. They sat and ate in comfortable silence, happy enough to be in each other’s company alone. 

‘Shoot,’ Cas said, checking his watch. ‘It’s almost three – I’m on shift in an hour.’  
Dean stood up reluctantly as Cas gathered up his things to leave.  
‘I had a really nice time,’ he said. They were standing very close together, close enough that Dean could smell the sweet syrup of the pancakes Cas had eaten on his breath.   
‘We should do this again,’ Dean suggested.  
‘Gimme your phone,’ Cas demanded, wetting his lips slightly. Dean tried not to let himself become engrossed with the tiny dart of his pink tongue as he handed over his phone. Cas punched in something on the keyboard and handed him the device back.   
‘Text me or whatever,’ he said nonchantly. ‘If you wanna meet up.’  
‘I will.’  
Cas smiled at him as he waved his goodbye and Dean watched as his trench coat swished side to side as he exited the Roadhouse.  
God. He was fucked.


	8. Let's hit you with another car

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry. I meant to upload this like a week ago, but I've been in a really bad place mentally and then I was hungover and had to film shit and I have my media exam tomorrow so I had to study and we have our English creative written essay drafts due next week (and I haven't started). But after tomorrow, I am all yours and I will binge write and upload like three chapters or whatever.  
> I really am sorry, though. I don't want to be one of those writers who only upload once a year - and I wont!

‘How did it go?’ was Sam’s response when Dean called him, as he exited the Roadhouse and made way to his blue Honda.  
‘He’s game for dinner if you’re still offering it,’ Dean informed him, sliding into the drivers’ seat and inserting the key home. The engine spluttered into life and Dean winced at the unhealthy sound. He should probably bring in into a garage for a check-up, or something, but Dean was never famous for getting around to things.   
‘Awesome!’ Sam said, gleefully. ‘How about Friday? I’ll make dad’s famous burgers.’  
‘Nuh huh, Sammy,’ Dean warned. ‘Remember last time you cooked?’  
The silence on the other end of the line served as an appropriate response.  
Dean chuckled. ‘Let me handle the food side of it, you just look pretty or whatever the hell it is you do.’   
Sam let out a spluttered sigh. ‘Dude, you know I am, like, a super professional lawyer.’  
Dean laughed again, pulling out of his space and heading down onto the main road. After his near death experience he put Sam onto loudspeaker and placed the phone in the cup holder, right behind the gear stick.   
‘Anyway, what else happened?’ Sam inquired.  
‘We ate and we talked, pretty standard stuff,’ Dean replied. ‘Sorry, but your book club will just have to find another source of gossip.’  
‘What did you talk about?’ Sam said simply but Dean could practically hear the eye roll.  
Dean shrugged to the empty car. ‘You know, work, family, and his boyfriend.’   
A heavy silence filled the car at the latter words. The only audible noises came from the hum of the exhaust and the static from the phone. Dean swallowed down the lump that seemed to be the after taste of talking about Cas’ boyfriend, Uriel.   
‘Shit,’ was all Sam said.   
Dean huffed a laugh. ‘Shit indeed.’  
‘I’m sorry, Dean.’  
‘Don’t be,’ Dean scoffed. ‘It’s not like I like the guy or anything.’  
If bitch faces were audible, then Dean’s ears would be bleeding at the sound right about now.   
‘Okay, fine!’ he cried. ‘I like the guy.’  
‘There you go,’ Sam muttered, but it sounded like it was more for himself than the older brother. ‘It can’t last, though, right?’  
‘They live together.’  
‘You really know how to pick em’, don’t you?’  
‘I never asked to like the guy!’  
Sam sniggered.   
‘What the hell are you laughing about?’  
‘Just you, Dean.’  
‘What about me?’  
‘You’re such a fucking idiot, you know that?’  
‘Well, I do now, apparently.’  
‘You want to date Cas right?’  
Dean hesitated. ‘Yeah, I guess.’  
‘I have a plan.’

Dean arrived at Sam’s house three hours later as instructed. He wasn’t greeted by Jess this time, which he hated to admit was kinda disappointing as he really did like that girl. Sam gave him a slap on the shoulder and a smug look as he swung the door open. Dean batted him away playfully and invited himself in.  
‘So,’ he started, ‘this plan of yours?’  
Sam gave him a blinding grin and mischievous raise of his eyebrows.   
‘We hit you with a car.’  
Dean’s mouth fell slightly agape. ‘Come again?’  
‘It will be perfect,’ Sam explained. ‘Cas will be so scared of losing you now that he’s found you that he’ll have to break up with his boyfriend and you guys can get married and live happily ever after!’  
Dean had to bite the inside of his check to stop him from either yelling or laughing. Meanwhile, Sam was looking like he’d just found the cure for cancer whilst mastering the art of the unicycle.  
‘You want me,’ Dean slowly repeated, ‘to get hit by a car – so that Cas’ will fall in love with me?’  
Sam nodded enthusiastically.  
‘I thought you were the smart brother, what the hell, Sammy?’ Dean cried, beginning to pace the floor.  
Sam’s smile faltered and he looked confused. ‘I thought it was good.’  
‘I drove forty five minutes to get here,’ Dean rambled, ‘so you could hit me with a car?’  
‘I never said I would be the one -’  
‘Not really the point I’m trying to make here.’  
‘Well, what’s your plan?’  
Dean scoffed and spun on his feet as he paced. ‘My plan? My plan was to let him get on with his life and not play home wreaker.’  
Sam sighed, rubbing a tired hand across his face. Dean walked over to where he was standing and placed a hand on his shoulder. He tried to pull on the best big brother face he could.  
‘I know you want me to be happy, Sam, but Cas is taken and I gotta make my peace with that.’  
‘What about if I come up with a better plan?’  
‘No freaking way, dude.’  
Dean pulled his hand off his brother’s shoulder and placed his hand up as a sign to stop as Sam opened his mouth again.  
‘I’m happy being his friend, OK?’  
‘OK.’

It wasn’t OK, though. Dean was sporting a massive crush on the guy – which was totally unfair, because the world can’t give him someone as beautiful and wonderful as Castiel and not make him single. It was a cruel move on God’s part.   
Besides, this Uriel guy sounded like a douche and Cas’ deserved better. Now, Dean wasn’t saying he was better (he was), but no way in hell should Cas’ have a boyfriend who makes him afraid of talking to other people.

His crush was getting out of hand, though. He had started having freaking Montague’s of him and Cas doing stupid things, like bike rides and picnics and it only ever happened when Taylor Swift came on (or when he purposefully played his 1989 album) the radio. He hadn’t crushed on someone like this since High School and the cheerleader, Lisa Braedon – but even that wasn’t this bad and she was a cheerleader, for Christ sake.   
Texting Cas’ wasn’t helping matters in the slightest. Especially because Cas’ always used the ‘:3’ emoji and signed his texts off with two kisses. Two!   
They didn’t even text about interesting stuff – it was mainly Cas sending him pictures of bee’s and his plants, or interesting facts about cat’s anatomy; Dean usually texted back about how Sam was doing or complaining about taxes. None of that was particularly gripping, but Dean found himself rushing to his phone every time he heard it chime (and no, Cas did not have a personalised ringtone and it definitely wasn’t a meow noise, either).   
Friday was drawing closer and closer and Dean was getting more and more flustered about it. He was worrying about everything. Would Cas like the food? What should he wear? Would Sam and Jess like him? Would Cas like Sam and Jess?   
He was getting a headache thinking about it.   
He’d already picked out what he was going to wear and it was only Wednesday. Embarrassingly enough, he would have chosen an outfit sooner – but he couldn’t make up his mind. Dean wasn’t sure what was more embarrassing: the fact that it had taken him three days to pick an outfit, or the fact that he had picked the outfit two days before he had too.   
The contestants for his outfit had been a white button up, with black slacks and dress shoes Vs a grey tight crew neck that he knew made him look hot as hell paired with the jeans that hugged his ass in all the right places. It boiled down to ‘Smart’ or ‘Hot as hell’. In the end, he’d decided to mash them together and pair the jeans with the shirt and hope he got the best of both worlds. 

It was Friday morning and Dean was heading out to work when his cell chimed. It the noise happened to be a meow, then it didn’t affect Dean’s reaction at all. Most people grin like mad when they get a text, right?

Cas 08:45  
Looking forward to tonight  should I bring anything? Xx

Dean felt his heart rate quicken and a warm fuzzy feeling blow through him. It was wrong that a simple text made him this happy, but Dean didn’t feel like complaining.

Dean 08:46  
Only if you want too

He hesitated for a moment, wondering whether or not to add the two kisses like Cas did. Nerves got the best of him, and he went against it. 

Cas 08:47  
Red or white? Xx 

Dean 08:47  
Ew neither 

Cas 08:48  
Beer guy? Xx

Dean 08:49  
Damn straight 

Cas 08:50  
I don’t know much about beer so I’ll get Uriel to get some xx

If Dean’s heart went flat at that text, he would never admit it.

Dean 08:51  
You really don’t have to bring anything. Besides we have beer

Cas 08:51  
I don’t want to make a bad first impression on your brother, Dean. Xx 

Dean 08;52  
Wanting my brother’s approval eh ;)

Cas didn’t reply after that and Dean suddenly felt a surge of panic that his text had come across way to flirty. He pocketed it and made his descent to his car.   
He was halfway to his car when his phone meowed. 

Cas 08:56  
You talk very highly of him so of course. See you tonight. Xx 

It seemed like a rhetorical text, so he didn’t bother replying as Cas had added some weird sense of finality to their conversation.   
He was suddenly dreading this meal even more.


	9. Oh boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh boyyyyy shit's about to go down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As an apology for not updating for over a week, you get two chapters in two days!! And this one is also quite long, as yesterday's was only like 1k word count.  
> Love you all, thank you for reading!!

He arrived at Roman Enterprise five minutes late. It wasn’t unusual for him to be late, and no one had ever seemed to mind, so when Bobby Singer called him into his office he was taken aback.  
‘What’s going on with you?’ Bobby snapped. ‘You’re never on time, you’re behind on work and you’re always in some weird dream land whenever I look over at your cubicle!’  
Bobby eyed him up like a stranger, trying to work out every detail about him. It wasn’t Bobby he was facing; this wasn’t his dad’s best friend – this was Mr. Singer, his boss and Dean often forgot about his authority.  
‘I’m sorry.’  
Bobby let out a deflating sigh. The tension had left the room and was replaced with the feeling of disappointment from the older man.  
‘You were on your way to a promotion before,’ Bobby admitted, tiredly. ‘You were going to be great. I hate to be the one to tell you this, please know that.’  
Dean couldn’t vocalise what he was thinking – he didn’t know what he was thinking. His mind was a swirling hurricane and he knew this was only going to end badly.  
‘I know you hit a rough patch, but the company just can’t afford for this to continue …’  
Dean had zoned out on what Bobby was saying. All he could hear was the blood rushing in his hearts and the unsteady thump of his heart, trying to break free from his ribcage.  
The look of regret on Bobby’s face was only watering the nagging anxiety in his gut. In his sense of hopelessness, he was trying to come up with any form of rationalisation that this would be okay – except there weren’t any. He knew that he’d been slacking so it wasn’t any surprise that Bobby had picked up on it. But, still, he never though that it would come to the point that Bobby would actually fire him.  
The drumming of his heart slowly crept its way up his throat and into his head, where it rattled and shook. It was like a samba band of children in there and Dean’s hand automatically went to try and sooth his throbbing headache, closing his eyes and biting his lips as he moved.  
‘Dean,’ Bobby said, quietly. ‘I really am sorry.’  
Dean nodded meekly. ‘I know.’  
‘It wasn’t my decision to make, please understand that,’ Bobby pleaded. Dean looked up at Bobby from where he stood.  
Bobby looked tired. His beard was straggly and his hair was combed over to one side; but it was standing up in points. His eyes sat dimly above two dark circles and his skin seemed greyed and aged. His tie wasn’t done right and there was a coffee stain on the collar of his shirt. Dean had never seen Bobby like this before.  
‘Are you okay?’ Dean asked.  
Bobby looked confused at the question. ‘Isn’t that my line right now?’  
Dean laughed weakly. ‘Sorry, Mr. Singer, but you look like shit.’  
Bobby scoffed. ‘If I hadn’t just fired you, I’d fire you for that.’  
‘Might as well go all the way then,’ Dean joked. Dean’s heart was still singing along to some unsteady beat, but he’d mastered the art of a nonchalant expression and now was as good time as ever to put his practice into use. His head was still painfully pulsating, but he was trying to ignore it the best he could.  
‘My wife, Karen, left me last night,’ Bobby admitted with a sigh.  
‘Shit, Bobby,’ Dean said, as he pulled the chair out next to him and hurriedly sat down. ‘What happened?’  
‘Chuck happened,’ he spat out. ‘Some douche author who she’s going to elope with or whatever.’  
‘God,’ Dean drawled, dragging a hand over his face, ‘I’m so sorry.’  
Bobby shook his head. ‘It happens, unfortunately. I want to hate her, but I knew I wasn’t giving her what she needed.’  
‘It doesn’t give her any right -’  
‘Dean,’ Bobby warned. ‘It’s for the best. We both know that.’  
‘Still,’ Dean said, almost in a whisper.  
Bobby waved his hand at Dean as he stood up from the chair. Dean pushed the leather chair back into its place and readjusted his shirt.  
‘One thing I won’t miss about this job,’ Dean quipped, ‘is the fucking shirts we have to wear.’  
Bobby shot a tired smile at his attempt to lighten the mood. Dean shifted uncomfortably as he edged over to the exit.  
‘I’ll get my stuff then.’  
‘I’ll see you around, son.’  
‘Bye, Bobby.’

A few months ago and prior one car accident, Dean might have been upset over this. But the truth was that he just didn’t care. It wasn’t as if he liked the job – the only perks were seeing Charlie, but she hung out with Sam anyway so he would still see her. At least now he wouldn’t be bothered by Fergus.  
He would have picked up a cardboard box to carry his stuff, but there was nothing of real importance to take home with him. The only signs that Dean Smith had ever worked at that desk was the picture of him and Sam taped up on the right hand side of his computer screen and a few pencils with the tips gnawed on. He took the picture and placed it in his wallet. He already had a picture of him and Sam in there, but there was nothing wrong with back up, right?  
He decided to leave the pencils – they were quite sordid anyway. He stepped back from his desk and gave it a good look over. For the last seven years, Dean had been rotting away in front of that computer. What had he achieved? Where was he now that he wasn’t seven years prior? He was still single, still living alone, and now he was unemployed. His life was even worse than it had been before.  
All Dean had anymore was Sam. But he was making leaps and bounds at his firm, quickly working his way up to head. Sam was in a committed relationship with an incredible girl that he would certainly marry in the near future. Sam had a two story house and a spare bedroom – because he could afford a place like that.  
Sam didn’t need him anymore.  
The thought terrified Dean. He’d prided himself on Sam’s success, always showing off to people he met about his younger brother. But Dean didn’t do anything to help Sam. Sam had gotten there himself. All those times Dean had praised himself for helping his brother succeed, when in fact he’d done nothing. Sam did it all for himself. Dean was only holding him back. Dean had always been the useless brother, he’d just never realised it until now. He’d excused his worthlessness with Sam’s success.  
He was the idiot who ended up in a coma; he was the one who ended up working a nine to five job at a place he hated; he was the one who never managed to stay in a relationship longer than a few one night stands. He was nothing.

‘Dean?’  
Dean spun around to face Charlie who was looking at him with eyes full of concern.  
Charlie didn’t wait for Dean to say anything. She pulled him into a tight hug, one hand resting on Dean’s lower back and one carding fingers through his short hair.  
Dean sunk into it, feeling all kinds of useless.  
‘It’s okay,’ she soothed, as she swayed gently, lulling Dean into a peaceful state on emotion.  
‘God, Charlie,’ he spat out, digging his head into the crook of her neck, ‘I’ve fucked up.’  
She pulled away slightly, still resting her hands on him. ‘What’s going on?’  
Dean sighed, taking a step back and breaking the embrace. ‘I got fired.’  
‘Dean,’ she whispered caringly. ‘I’m so sorry.’  
‘I hated this job anyway,’ he spluttered. ‘But I just feel so god damn pathetic!’  
‘You’re not pathetic,’ she said firmly. ‘You’re Dean-freaking-Smith. You’re the coolest person I know. You’re going to find another job – a better job; one you actually like.’  
‘All I know how to do is file through numbers,’ he reminded her. ‘Except I can’t even do that – I can’t do anything.’  
It wasn’t often that he indulged in pity-parties for himself, but now that he was – it was a goddamn wedding.  
‘I’m just going to end up alone in a ditch with stray cats eating my corpse,’ he ranted on. ‘People will come from all across the world to visit the worlds most pathetic man -’  
He was cut off by a sudden slap. His face burned hot and began to tingle in the spot where Charlie had slapped him.  
‘What the fu -’  
‘You listen to me right now, Smith,’ she barked, standing up straight. ‘You are not pathetic. How dare you talk about yourself that way! Do you have any idea how much you mean to people? Any idea how much Sam needs you? How much I need you? Jesus Dean, when did you start hating yourself this much?’  
Dean shrunk down under Charlie’s’ wrath. ‘Sam doesn’t ne -’  
‘Not a word, Smith.’  
Dean bit his tongue.  
Charlie smirked. ‘I hear you have a meal with Cas tonight?’  
Dean nodded, confused.  
‘You don’t want to be there acting all pitiful and depressing, do you?’  
Dean shook his head, still confused.  
‘It’s time for a Montague, Dean!’

‘I’ve already told you, I know what I’m wearing,’ Dean sighed as Charlie was rummaging through his wardrobe. ‘Also, shouldn’t you be at work?’  
She blew a shot of air out, her bangs fluttering slightly before settling down above her eyes. ‘This is far more urgent.’  
She pulled two shirts out of his closet and eyed them up with a frown on her face, before discarding them on the bed with all the other clothes.  
‘I don’t want you losing your job, too, Charlie,’ Dean said.  
‘Please,’ she cried, ‘they wouldn’t - I’m just so gosh darn cute.’  
She winked and Dean rolled his eyes, falling back on the wall and propping himself up with his foot that was pressed against it.  
‘Besides,’ she continued, ‘I bet you settled on your white button down and those jeans that make people worship your ass.’  
Dean flushed scarlet. ‘I didn’t – no, uh …’  
‘Just accept my help, Smith,’ she said with a flourish, darting back into his closet. A few moments later she emerged, holding a white shirt and waistcoat combo and a wicked grin on her face.  
‘Strip for me Smith!’ she cackled, throwing the clothes his way. Dean only just caught them and bundled them close to his chest. He tried to ignore the enthusiastic grin Charlie was shooting him as he unbuttoned his baggy grey shirt and replaced it with the well fitting cotton white one. It was a little tight around the arms, but it enhanced his muscles and he couldn’t really complain about that. The waistcoat was a matt black, with a silk silver back. It had three large burgundy buttons that Dean left undone. The top two buttons on the shirt were left undone – due to Charlie’s demand, of course. After shooting him a thumb up, she retreated back into the closet (Dean had to muffle down multiple jokes) to find him some trousers.  
She emerged with multiple black slacks, but Dean turned them all down. He insisted that he wear the ass-hugging jeans. Reluctantly, she agreed – but only on the terms that he wear the maroon dress shoes that Sam got him four years ago.  
‘It matches the buttons,’ she said, cheerily. 

Another debate later, on whether or not Dean should shave (Charlie was for, Dean was against – Dean won), a lot of hair gel later and the right amount of aftershave and he was ready,  
‘I feel like a proud gay mum watching her small little bisexual leave for war,’ she said, wiping away a faux tear.  
‘It’s just dinner,’ Dean mumbled, but he couldn’t hide that he was also exited. ‘Besides, Sam and Jess will be there too.’  
‘It’s like a double date!’  
Dean scoffed. ‘I wish.’  
‘Fuck Uriel.’  
‘Damn, Sam really keeps you in the loop, doesn’t he?’  
‘Shush,’ she hissed jokingly. ‘Go get him, tiger.’

‘Looking good, Dean,’ Sam said with an exaggerated wink as he opened the door.  
‘Heya, Sammy,’ Dean replied, pulling him into a one armed hug. ‘Where’s Jess?’  
‘Hey Dean!’ came the blonde’s voice as she entered the hallway. She looked stunning in a white summer dress and her hair in loose curls.  
‘You look gorgeous, Jess,’ Dean said, hugging her tightly. ‘You’re way too good for my brother, you know that right?’  
She grinned. ‘He’s okay.’  
Sam chuckled and wrapped his arm around the smaller woman. She leaned up and pressed a chaste kiss on his lips.  
‘C’mon, guys,’ Dean moaned, ‘I’m the depressed single here – cut it out.’  
They broke apart with bashful smiles. God, Dean really envied what they had. If there was even the slightest chance he could get that with Cas, he would die happy.  
‘What time does Castiel get here?’ Jess asked Dean.  
Dean checked his watch. ‘Should be here in the next five or so minutes.’  
As if on cue, there was a faint knock at the door. Sam and Jess both squealed and Dean slapped them both with the back of his hand as he made his way to the door. His hand landed on the handle and he turned to face the couple, they both shot him a supportive thumbs up. He took a deep breath and pushed the handle down, swinging the door open.  
‘Hey, Ca -’  
‘Dean Smith, a pleasure to meet you.’  
The greeting came from a tall and broad black man, dressed in a grey silk suit and a darker grey tie. He had deep brown eyes and a small mole on his cheek, by his nose. Beside him stood Cas, looking down at the ground and avoiding eye contact with Dean.  
‘Uh, hi?’ Dean replied, not really sure as to what the situation was. ‘I don’t believe we’ve met.’  
The man extended his hand. ‘I’m Uriel. Castiel’s boyfriend.’  
The glint of possessiveness in Uriel’s eyes did not go unnoticed by Dean as he met the other mans hand and shook firmly.  
‘I didn’t realise you would be coming,’ Dean said through gritted teeth, although trying to maintain his manners.  
‘If Castiel had told me before today about this little meal, then maybe he could have informed you of this fact,’ Uriel replied coldly.  
‘Uh,’ Dean said, looking towards Cas and willing him to meet his eyes, ‘come in.’

He led the couple to the living room and tried to ignore the tone of confusion in Sam and Jess’s tone as they greeted the unexpected (and unwanted) guest.  
‘So,’ Sam said once everyone was seated, bar him, ‘drinks?’  
‘Yes,’ Dean said, almost too quickly.  
‘If it isn’t a bother, then yes please’ Cas said politely.  
Uriel placed his hand down on Cas’. ‘None for him, thank you. But I would love some wine.’  
Sam raised his eyebrow. ‘He just said he wanted some, though.’  
Dean watched closely as Uriel’s grip on Cas’ hand tightened. His eyes flickered upwards to see the look of utter hopelessness on the blue eyed man’s face grow. He felt a pang of anger towards Uriel, and wanted to do nothing more than rip his hand off of Cas’ and punch him in his stupid bald face.  
‘Yes, well,’ Uriel said with false sweetness in his tone, ‘Cas doesn’t know what he wants, do you sweetie?’  
As he finalised his sentence, his eyes made way to Dean. They trapped him in the same way that Castiel’s did, but this was colder. He felt his chest constrict and his heart rate quicken, but not in the good way that he felt when he looked at Cas.  
Dean swallowed down the bile that was forming in his throat and swiftly stood up.  
‘I should make a start on dinner,’ he said quickly, racing over to Sam, grabbing his arm and pulling him to the kitchen.  
‘Who is that guy?’ Sam said automatically in a hushed voice.  
‘Cas’ asshole boyfriend,’ Dean whispered back. ‘This is going terribly.’  
‘He’s a fucking douche,’ Sam hissed. Dean raised his eyebrows and shot Sam a you’re-telling-me look.  
Sam was pouring wine into two glasses and Dean leaned back on the lip on the sink and let out a heavy sigh.  
‘What should we do?’ Sam asked, walking over to the fridge and pulling out two beers. He handed one to Dean, who took it with more enthusiasm than needed and popped the cap on his own, taking a deep swig.  
‘God man, I don’t know,’ Dean replied wearily. ‘But that hitting me with a car plan is suddenly looking a lot more tempting.’  
Sam laughed, taking another gulp of the amber liquid. ‘You should get started on dinner. I’d help, but I’ve left Jess alone with Cas and Satan.’  
Dean laughed at the insult and turned to the cupboards to collect the ingredients needed. He’d made the recipe hundreds of times, so it was all muscle memory at this point. He was placing the meat on the grill when he heard a low cough behind him.  
‘Hey, Dean,’ Cas said quietly. Dean spun around and grinned automatically.  
‘Hey, Cas,’ Dean replied. ‘Glad you could make it.’  
‘Are you?’ Cas said, with a sceptical expression. ‘Cause you didn’t seem too pleased to see me.’  
‘I was just surprised to see Uriel,’ Dean said. If his jaw clenched at the name, no one could prove it.  
Cas’ shoulders sagged. ‘I’m sorry.’  
‘Hey, hey, hey,’ Dean said softly, walking over to Cas and placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. ‘I should be apologizing to you. I’m sorry you have to live with that asshole – no offence, but offence.’  
Cas laughed and his eyes crinkled in that beautiful, stupid way.  
‘Want to help me flip burgers?’ Dean prompted. His heart fluttered when Cas put down the glass of water he was nursing and made his way over to the stove. He picked up the spatula that Dean had just put down and started to poke the meet with utensil.  
‘I’m not very good at cooking, be warned,’ he said with a gentle laugh.  
‘What are you talking about?’ Dean cried. ‘That chilli smelt amazing!’  
Cas smiled modestly. ‘Unfortunately, that’s where my talents end.’  
‘I doubt that.’  
Cas scoffed. ‘You barely know me.’  
‘I’d like to, though.’  
Cas turned to face him, his blue eyes almost glowing in the dim lighting of the kitchen, his lips was curled into a frown and he leant against the countertop, letting out a heavy sigh.  
‘You really wouldn’t, Dean.’  
He opened his mouth to reply, but was cut off by Uriel appearing at the door.  
‘Am I interrupting?’ he said. It was obvious by his tone that he knew damn well he was interrupting and Dean felt his hatred grow.  
‘Nope,’ Cas said, sticking on a faux smile and walking over to Uriel.  
Uriel wrapped his arms around Cas’ waist instantly and pressed a kiss to his lips.  
‘Gee,’ Dean sighed, ‘What is it with couples today and their freaking PDA?’  
Uriel stared at him, his eyes gleaming mischievously. ‘Out of love, Dean?’  
He laughed coldly. ‘I’m out of freaking everything right now.’  
Cas’ head cocked and he was wearing that adorable expression that he always had on when he was confused. Dean just waved his hand dismissively and took another swig of beer.  
‘These burgers aren’t gonna flip emselves,’ Dean pointed out. ‘Be ready in ten.’

Fifteen minutes later, Dean was serving a plate stuffed with salad, fresh tomatoes, roasted potatoes and his famous beef burgers served in a warm lightly toasted bun.  
‘It looks wonderful, Dean,’ Cas praised and Dean’s heart fluttered again.  
‘Well, you did help,’ Dean replied with a grin. He didn’t have to look to know that Uriel, stationed across from him, was glaring. Cas was positioned next to Uriel, Jess was sitting at the top of the table, Sam to her right and Dean next to Sam.  
‘Commence shovelling.’  
There was a steady flow of conversation throughout dinner, mainly directed at Cas.  
The questions were mainly bog-standard ones that Cas replied to quickly with a smile. Jess seemed infatuated with him, constantly laughing and grinning at everything he was saying. Dean felt a surge of relief at how well they were getting along.  
‘So Dean,’ Uriel said,’ what do you do for a living?’  
It was a simple enough question, so Dean couldn’t really be pissed, but he still felt like Uriel knew about today and was trying to get a rise out of him.  
‘I was an accountant.’  
‘Was?’ came the voices of both Uriel and Sam – although one was said in a confused tone and one was said in a smug one.  
‘I quit.’  
‘Why did you do that?’ Uriel asked, leaning down on his palm and eyeing Dean up.  
‘Didn’t really feel like doing the whole nine-to-five thing anymore,’ he replied simply, but his heart was racing at a million miles an hour.  
‘See,’ Uriel snarled, ‘I heard that you’d been fired.’  
The silence that filled the table was deafening. At least, Dean assumed it was, as he couldn’t hear anything over the blood rushing in his ears.  
‘Where did you hear that?’ Dean asked, through gritted teeth.  
‘Uriel,’ he heard Cas’ voice warn.  
Uriel dismissed him, leaning even closer. ‘Roman Enterprise is worse than twitter – rumours spread.’  
‘You work at Roman?’ Dean hissed disbelievingly.  
Uriel barked out a laugh. ‘Work there? I’m the CEO, Dean.’  
Dean clenched his jaw, his grip on his knife hardened. A few fantasies involving shoving the knife into certain parts of the other man’s body kept popping up – but it was a butter knife and would do little damage.  
‘Why were you fired Dean?’ Uriel smirked.  
Dean opened his mouth to curse him with any number of profanities but a loud thud and the scraping of a chair silenced him.  
‘Enough, Uriel!’ Cas yelled. ‘You come into his brother’s house, eat the food he has cooked for you and then go on to humiliate him! We’re leaving.’  
Uriel looked shocked. Dean could hazard a guess that this was one of the first or few times Cas had stood up for himself. No one moved for a moment.  
‘Now,’ Cas snarled. Uriel rose out of his chair, straightening his shirt and gaining back his previously lost composure.  
‘Thank you for dinner,’ he said to Dean, but the affection wasn’t there. ‘Lovely meeting you.’  
‘Yeah, you too,’ Dean snapped.  
Uriel left the room leaving Cas alone, looking ashamed and embarrassed.  
‘I’m so sorry,’ he whispered. He turned on his heels and fled the room.  
‘Cas -’ Dean called out after him, but the slam of the front door silenced him.  
‘Well,’ Jess said quietly, ‘that went well.’

'Uriel was meant to bring beer,' Sam pointed out quietly.  
Dean slammed his head down on the table with a heavy sigh.


	10. Master Burger Chef

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess this is kinda fluff????? Not sure???? Its gay af though

‘Jesus,’ Dean murmured into the crook of his elbow.   
A comforting hand fell on Dean’s back. ‘You okay?’  
Dean pulled his head off the table and gave Sam and tired look. ‘Surprisingly enough - not really.’  
‘Was what he said true?’ Sam asked timidly. ‘About you losing your job …’  
Dean sighed and ran and hand across his face wearily. ‘Yeah, Sam, it is.’  
‘What happened?’  
‘I was behind on work, blah, blah, blah,’ Dean explained with a monotonic tone.  
‘They can’t just fire you, though,’ Sam exclaimed, ‘you’ve only been back short of a month.’   
‘Yeah, well the company doesn’t really give a shit if you get hit by a car,’ Dean retorted. ‘The only thing they give a shit about is if you’re making money.’  
‘Jesus, Dean,’ Sam sighed, running a hand through his hair. ‘There has to be something you can do about that.’  
Dean scoffed. ‘Like what?’  
Sam worried his lip in thought.   
‘I don’t even want my job back,’ Dean said, shaking his head slightly. ‘I hated it anyway.’  
‘What are you going to do?’   
‘Right now, I’m going to go home and get shit faced drunk and pretend this evening never happened,’ Dean said. ‘After that? Fuck knows.’  
‘You should stay here tonight,’ Jess offered.  
Dean smiled, but raised his hand in defence. ‘Thanks, but no thanks.’  
Jess smiled weakly in response. A yawn bubbled in Dean’s throat – he hadn’t realised how tired he was, but it really had been one hell of a day.  
‘I should get going,’ he said as he pulled himself to his feet, patting down his shirt and dusting away imaginary crumbs. Sam quickly stood up, his chair making the same scraping sound that Cas’ had during his outburst.  
‘Let me drive you home,’ Sam demanded. ‘You’re tired and I’d feel better knowing you got home safe.’  
Dean wanted to argue, but he was functioning on roughly four hours sleep, coffee and adrenaline from earlier. He gave in with little persuasion. 

The walk to Sam’s car was one of little conversation. Sam kept shooting Dean meaningful looks, and Dean was trying to ignore each one. They opened the car doors in unison and sat down in succession. The atmosphere wasn’t tense, but was uncomfortable. Dean knew that Sam was probably trying to hold back some meaningful monologue on how Dean had been wronged by his company and the injustice of it all. Dean relished in every minute of silence from the other brother – he was not in a conversing mood at the moment. Fifteen minutes into the drive marked the moment when Sam finally broke.  
‘They didn’t even give you a warning,’ he snapped. ‘Doesn’t that seem fishy to you?’  
Dean sighed.  
‘You were a model employee and three weeks of not so up to par work and they get rid of you? Just like that?’  
Dean sighed again.  
‘Something is definitely up, Dean, I don’t understand how you’re acting so nonchalant about this whole thing.’  
‘It was a shit job,’ Dean muttered, ‘they did me a favour firing me.’  
Sam let out a heavy breath, drumming his hands on the steering wheel in frustration. Dean shot him the stink eye, but it went unnoticed.  
Sam opened his mouth to say something else, but Dean quickly cut him off.  
‘Sam, I don’t want to talk about this,’ he said.  
Sam nodded his head. ‘Sorry, it’s just confusing.’  
Dean shrugged. ‘Pretty black and white to me, Sammy.’  
Sam gave him a sceptical look. The rest of the drive was in silence, though, much to Dean’s appreciation.  
They pulled up outside Dean’s flat.  
‘Thanks for the lift,’ Dean said, swinging open the door and stepping out into the cool night. Sam gave him a small wave as he pulled out and executed a U turn. Dean watched his brother driving away. He let out a sigh and his hot breath came out in smoke like wisps. His phone buzzed in his back pocket.

Cas 23:17  
Hello, Dean. I would like to apologise for this evening. I should not have yelled.

Dean stared down at his phone is confusion. The first reason was of course – why was Cas sorry? He hadn’t done anything wrong. In fact, he’d stood up for Dean. Dean should be thanking him, not being apologised to. The second reason was the lack of kisses at the end of the text. Now, it could just be due to Cas’ assumable and understandably shitty mood, but those reasons still left Dean feeling sceptical.

Dean 23:19  
You have nothing to be sorry for. You stood up for me thxs :D r u okay?

His phone buzzed before he could pocket it.

Cas 23:20  
Yes, I’m fine. I cannot say the same for Uriel, unfortunately.

Dean worried his lip. If Uriel was being an asshole to Cas, then Dean would go over right now and beat the ever loving shit out of the guy.

Dean 23:21  
If he’s being a dick you could come to mine? My address is number 3/11 Pier point  
Cas 23:22  
Thank you for the offer, but I feel as if me staying at yours would only sour Uriels mood further.

Dean had been expecting that answer, but the hope still lingered softly.

Dean 23:23  
The offer stands anytime. Okay?  
Cas 23:23  
Okay. Thank you Dean. Good night.  
Dean 23:24  
Night Cas.

Dean woke around noon the next morning. His head was groggy and his eyes felt glued shut. Wearily, rubbing his eyes, he pulled himself to his feet, grabbing his blue crewneck that lay at the end of his bed. It was clean. He had meant to put the stack of clean washing away last night, but had been too tired. It smelt of fresh cotton and Dean breathed the smell in deeply. It was clean and clear and helped ease his head, slightly. He padded towards his kitchen, turning the kettle on by instinct. As the kettle bubbled and boiled, Dean wandered over to his front door to see if any mail had been delivered. It was weird that the mailman delivered the mail straight to his door, but his apartment block didn’t have those weird letter box things and it was only a three story block, anyway. He picked up the white envelopes and newspaper that were resting on his door mat.  
Bills. Bills. PPI claims. Boring.   
He placed the bills on his counter, he would get round to them later and discarded the PPI letter. He continued making his coffee and brought it over to his couch, the newspaper under one arm.  
The sun casts chequered shadows across the hardwood floors through the shutters. The sunlight dancing across the flat, causing glass objects to wink in the glow.   
Dean could feel the warmth of the sun and he basked in the rare feeling. It was shaping up to be a nice day.   
He sipped on his coffee, gently so as not to burn himself, and flipped open the newspaper. Dean would never admit to anyone that his only really read the gossip section of the paper. Reading about politics and paedophiles never really made the best start to his morning. He was halfway through an article on some actors sordid love affair with his pool cleaner when his phone buzzed.

Cas 12:15  
Offer still stand? Xx

Dean’s brows furrowed in confusion. What offer? He scrolled up to read the old texts from last night. Of course. He’d offered his flat to Cas. But why was Cas asking now?  
Before he could reply or ponder more, his doorbell rang.  
He placed his coffee reluctantly down on the coffee table to the right of him and folded up his paper.   
He waddled over to the door, running a hand through his hair. With a loud yawn, he opened it.  
‘Cas?’  
‘Hey, Dean,’ Cas replied with a trying grin.  
‘What are you doing here?’ Dean asked, feeling stupid in just a t-shirt and checked boxers.   
Cas bit his lip. ‘Sorry that I texted so short notice. I panicked and only remembered that I should probably ask when I got here.’  
Cas gave an uncomfortable laugh, averting his eyes from Dean’s. Dean should probably reply, but his brain had seemed to short circuit.  
‘Sorry,’ Cas said quickly, looking up. ‘You appear to have had someone over last night, I should go.’  
Cas turned to leave and Dean quickly stammered out a ‘wait!’  
‘Sorry,’ Dean said, ‘I was just surprised to see you here is all.’  
‘Oh.’ Cas’ face softened.  
‘And no one is here.’ He laughed. ‘Why’d ya think that?’  
Cas blushed. ‘Sorry, I just assumed with the boxers and the sex hair.’  
Dean’s hand automatically went up to sooth his bed head. ‘Sex hair?’  
Cas laughed. It was the first time Dean had really heard Cas laugh of the bat. It was a lovely sound and Dean suddenly made it his goal to make him make that sound more (amongst other sounds, but that’s another story).  
Dean started grinning. It was a cheesy, toothy one and he would have probably felt self conscious of it, had it been someone else standing in front of him. It was weird. He didn’t feel nervous around the other man. He’d known him for roughly a week, formally, but he felt completely at ease when he was around him.   
Dean noticed that Cas was smiling back. It wasn’t one of the small and gentle smiles he so casually offered those around him; this was wide and full of pure glee. It was a side he hadn’t seen before and he loved it.  
They stood there at the door, both grinning madly at each other like fools for a few moments before Dean remembered his manners and invited Cas in.  
‘Sorry about the mess,’ he said, pushing all the dirty crockery into the sink with a painful clatter.   
‘Your place is lovely,’ Cas replied. Cas was standing in the hall, eyes searching the place and a contended smile on his face.   
‘Thank you,’ Dean said, heating up another pot of coffee. ‘You want some coffee?’  
‘Yes please,’ Cas said, walking over to the counter Dean was working behind and leaning against the lip.  
‘How dya take it?’ Dean asked, pulling the milk and sugar out.  
‘Black, two sugars,’ Cas replied.  
‘Just how you like your men,’ Dean said with a comical wink. ‘Except without the sugar.’  
Cas barked out a laugh. ‘He’s not that bad, you know.’  
Dean rolled his eyes. ‘Sure.’  
‘He’s not,’ Cas argued. ‘He’s very caring and he’s supported me a lot.’  
‘Do you love him?’ Dean asked suddenly, surprising both him and Cas with the question.   
Cas looked away. ‘Yes, of course.’  
Dean raised an eyebrow. ‘Wanna look me in the eye and say that?’  
Cas turned to face him, his expression nonchalant. ‘I love him.’  
Dean sighed. ‘You could do so much better, you know that, right?’  
Cas scoffed and Dean barely made out him say ‘I really don’t’.  
The conversation had taken a sour turn, and Dean desperately wanted this meeting to end on a good note – unlike last night.  
He passed Cas his coffee and shot him his famous Smith smirk, the one that makes his green eyes crinkle in both an endearing and sexual way.   
Cas took the coffee and thanked him.   
They made their way to the couch, where Dean picked up his now lukewarm coffee.  
‘So,’ Dean asked, ‘how come you’re here?’  
‘I wanted to say sorry for last night,’ Cas responded.  
‘You already apologised,’ Dean reminded him, ‘besides, like I said, you have no reason to be.’  
‘I still felt bad,’ Cas said quietly. ‘You made such a lovely meal and I ruined it.’  
‘Correction,’ Dean said, ‘Uriel ruined it. Besides, most dinners I’ve attended end in some sort of dramatic fashion.’  
Cas laughed, eyes crinkling over his cup of coffee.  
‘You know,’ Dean said, ‘I never really did get to teach you how to make those burgers.’

And that’s how Dean found himself spending his day. He started with showing Cas how he prepared the meat. He halved the meat mixture, giving one half to Cas and keeping the other one. He showed Cas the seasoning he used and how he kneaded it into the meat.  
‘We should add cinnamon,’ Cas suggested.  
‘No freaking way,’ Dean laughed, pushing the cinnamon bottle that was sitting on the spice rack next to them as far away from Cas as possible.  
‘Cooking is an adventure,’ Cas reminded him with a comical sigh and eye roll. ‘We must explore our taste buds.’  
‘Dude,’ Dean chuckled, ‘the only thing you’ll explore is the bathroom.’  
Cas pulled a face. ‘You’re just scared that I’ll out cook you and become the ultimate burger chef.’  
‘You got me,’ he quipped. ‘I’m quaking in my apron.’  
Cas laughed again. Full and heartily like last time. Dean grinned back.  
‘Okay,’ Cas said, still laughing slightly, ‘what about lemon?’  
‘We can do lemon.’

They continued kneading the meat, Dean keeping his recipe simple and trying to ward Cas off from over seasoning his meat. Cas tried to add in ketchup at one point.  
‘We’re just going to add it on later anyway,’ Cas argued. Dean had tried to argue back, but was doubled over laughing and could string together a coherent sentence.  
‘Why are you laughing?’ Cas asked seriously, but he was smirking, too. ‘It’s innovative.’  
Dean, still laughing, straightened himself up and clapped a shoulder on Castiel’s shoulder.  
‘Don’t ever change,’ he said, giving his shoulder a tight squeeze.   
Cas smiled. ‘Does that mean I can add ketchup?’  
‘Fuck no.’

Cas admitted defeat to Dean when the burgers were done frying.  
‘It taste like ass … butt,’ Cas said in a grimace, sticking out his tongue.  
‘Assbutt?’  
‘Merely stating it tasted like ass would not fully describe how bad this is,’ Cas said with a shrug. Dean laughed and broke off a piece of the burger and popped it in his mouth. He immediately spat in out.  
‘Yeah, taste like assbutt,’ he said, quickly pouring himself a glass of water to wash down the taste.  
‘I wasn’t lying when I said I couldn’t cook,’ Cas reminded him.  
‘That was like curse level not being able to cook,’ Dean joked. Cas rolled his eyes and slapped his arm playfully.   
‘Gimme some of yours,’ Cas demanded. ‘Prove you’re the master burger chef.’  
Dean raised an eyebrow. ‘Dude, you know I’m the master burger chef.’  
Cas pulled a bemused expression. ‘True, I just wanna eat your burger.’  
‘Good thing we didn’t make sausages, amirite?’  
‘What?’  
‘What.’  
Cas just rolled his eyes again and cut himself a piece of Dean’s burger. As soon as he bit into it, he let out an ungodly moan and Dean had to quickly summon up thoughts of Sam in a maid outfit to cool the rush of heat that went souring south.   
‘You earned the title,’ Cas said, taking another bite. Dean wasn’t really listening, too busy watching the dart of Cas’ tongue slip out to wet his lips and the way his throat bobbed when he swallowed.   
‘Dean?’  
‘Wha-yeah?’ Dean stutter, breaking his trance. Cas was looking at him with an amused expression and a cocky grin.  
‘Enjoying yourself?’ Cas said suggestively. Dean burned brighter than a thousand suns and he knew he was as red as Castiel’s burger.   
Cas just laughed mischievously as Dean struggled to find words.  
‘So,’ Cas said, ‘anything else you wanna teach me?’  
He was sure he’d imagined the flicker of Cas’ eye’s to his lips, but he couldn’t pretend that Cas voice hadn’t dropped at least three octaves lower and Jesus, that was super fucking hot.  
‘Huh?’ Dean squeaked out.  
‘Cooking.’  
‘Oh, right, yeah of course.’ Dean laughed awkwardly. ‘Lets see if you can fuck up cupcakes.’

Turns out Cas can fuck up cupcakes.  
‘I thought you said tablespoon.’  
‘Why would I want a tablespoon of salt in the cupcakes?’  
Cas huffed angrily. He was covered in flour and Dean wasn’t entirely sure how as he had been the one to measure it out and mix it in. He looked adorable with his black hair messy and peppered with flour like grey hairs. His shirt had been completely dyed with the powder and you could barely make out the small tent logo that had been there before.   
‘You look like a coke addict,’ Dean said with a laugh.  
Cas huffed again, blowing air upwards, which only sent a cloud of flour billowing into his eye. He let out a surprised cry and stumbled back in his temporary blinded state. Dean quickly rushed out to grab him and pulled him up right.   
‘Woah, easy there,’ Dean breathed. He was clutching tightly onto Cas forearm, and his other hand was pressed into the small of Cas’ back.  
They were very close.  
Every breath Dean took sent tiny particles of flour to shift across Cas’ face. Cas, himself, was looking at Dean with wide eyes. Cas let out a cough and Dean quickly let go and stepped as far back as he could.   
‘You should, uh, change your shirt,’ he pointed out. ‘It’s all flour-y.’  
‘I don’t have a change of clothes,’ Cas said simply, trying to avoid Dean’s eyes as much as Dean was trying to avoid his.  
‘I can lend you one,’ Dean suggested, ‘if you want.’  
‘Sure,’ Cas said with a shrug.  
Dean left the room and headed to his bedroom. He opened his closet up and began to rummage through his shirts. He found an old Vampire Weekend shirt buried at the back of his drawers. It would do.  
‘Hey, Cas,’ he said walking back into the room, ‘I’ve got a shirt -’  
Cas was standing shirtless in his kitchen. Dean felt his mouth go dry. He was standing, holding the flour-y t-shirt and looking around the kitchen. Dean let his eyes wander down Cas’ torso. He was fucking ripped.  
He was well toned, but not in the creepy and overly muscled way Dean hated. He even had that goddamn V-shape on his hips. This was so unfair.  
Dean had to move so as to not look like a stalker. He stumbled over to Cas and handed him the shirt. Cas accepted it gratefully and pulled it over his bare torso. Dean was sad to see it vanish, but the sight of Cas in one of his baggy black band tees was something else entirely.  
‘Suits you,’ Dean said, trying to sound casual even though his heart was beating rapidly in his chest.   
Cas opened his mouth to reply, when his phone started to beep.  
‘Shit,’ he said instead. He pulled out his phone and instantly he face darkened.  
Dean watched as Cas pushed down on a button and raised the phone to his ear.  
‘Hey, honey,’ Cas said. Dean felt a heavy stone land in his gut. Great, Uriel.   
‘I just went out to see Balthazar – I’m fine – yes, I understand – okay – okay – love you, too. Goodbye.’  
‘Lying to Uriel?’ Dean asked with a confused expression.  
Cas sighed. ‘Uriel feels threatened by you. It’s best for everyone if he doesn’t find out that we hung out.’  
‘This make me your mistress or something?’ Dean joked. Cas smiled, but it was weak and Dean cursed Uriel for souring Cas’ mood.   
‘He wants me back in twenty minutes,’ Cas admitted reluctantly, ‘I should go.’  
‘Want me to drive you?’ Dean offered.  
Cas shook his head. ‘It’s fine, I drove here myself.’  
‘I’ll watch you to your car, then.’  
‘Such a gentleman.’

‘Dude, your car,’ Dean cried out in shock as they rounded the corner.   
‘You like cars?’ Cas said with a confused expression.  
‘I like this car!’ Dean said in awe, running over to the black beauty. ’67’ Chevy Impala.’  
‘It’s Uriel’s,’ Cas informed him. ‘I don’t really know much about cars myself.’  
‘That man does not deserve such a beautiful car,’ Dean said, eyes locked with the car.  
‘Maybe you can take it for a drive,’ Cas pointed out. ‘Of course, Uriel will have to be very, very far away.’  
‘I would freaking love that, dude,’ Dean exclaimed. Cas beamed at him as he opened the door to enter the car.  
‘I had a nice time today,’ he said.  
‘Me too, Cas.’  
Cas sat himself down and pulled the door shut with a slam. ‘I’ll see you around, Dean.’  
‘See ya, Cas.’


	11. There's no place like home, there's no place like home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean takes a trip down to see his father, and ends up in an awkward conversation with someone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about how long this took. I have no excuses, I just couldn't be bothered to write.

As the black impala drove away, Dean felt a sense of contentment wash over him. So what if Cas was dating someone else? He was happy just being around him. Platonically. So fine. So good.   
He found himself just standing on the pavement, just watching cars pass him by and drive off into the horizon like a cliché Western ending. The idea of going back upstairs to an empty apartment only to clean up his kitchen seemed very unappealing to him. Maybe he should drive down and visit his dad. He could stay the weekend. After all, Mary was meant to be back on the Monday and Dean was missing her.   
He didn’t bother calling his dad to check if he minded. He wouldn’t, anyway. All his dad did was sit around fixing up old cars, sometimes at the local garage, and cook. It wasn’t like he’d be busy.   
John didn’t work anymore. He used to, before Sam and Dean were born and then when they were teenagers. But Mary worked constantly, so John had been the one to stay at home when they were kids. When Sam left home, at eighteen, John had been in a small accident that left him unable to work for nine months. After he’d healed, he just hadn’t wanted to go back and was comfortable staying at home and living the domestic life. Mary earned enough money, so it was okay him not working – but had been the cause of many of his parents’ arguments; due to her calling him a lazy slob and him calling her a pretentious bitch that didn’t care about her family. Friendly stuff, you know.

Dean packed a small bag of clothes, sanitary products and money and headed back outside to his car. John didn’t live too far away. Roughly an hour, depending on traffic, that is.   
The journey passed in a blur of radio talk shows and his Mumford and Sons album. It was a nice day to drive. It was sunny, but not in the harsh glaring way that always made for an uncomfortable driving session, and it wasn’t too windy so Dean could have the windows rolled down and not freeze to death. The roads were fairly busy, it being around five and therefore rush hour. Due to that fact, it took him an hour and a half to arrive outside the old family home.

Dean had enjoyed growing up here. It was spacious and he had had his own room. He remembered it vividly. It had been painted electric blue back when he was eleven, and he’d regretted the decision for the next eight years of living there. He hadn’t had a bed frame – he thought just sleeping on a mattress was ‘hard core’. It only led to him finding more bugs in his bed than necessary. He was, and is still, a messy person. Dean can’t recall a time when his room wasn’t completely scattered in clothes and empty plates and cups. Sam had been the opposite. Sam had kept his room immaculate. Right down to the beige painted walls and king sized bed. Dean had always called him gay for keeping his room so clean; ironic, really. How the tables had turned. It had been in his childhood room that he’d stumbled on the fact that he wasn’t the straightest arrow in the quiver. It had been late, and he was fifteen. He had been tired and horny, because that’s all that happens when you’re a teenager, and had accidently clicked on a guy/guy video on Pornclub.   
The rest, as they say, was history.

He killed the exhaust, grabbed the bag that was in the passenger seat and got out. As he walked to the door, he noted that the garden was looking a little run down. Usually his dad did gardening every week. He was proud of his garden, always telling Dean about the new seeds he just bought and where he planned to grow them. It was kinda cute, in a way. John was this big, burly guy with a wiry beard and busy eyebrows and a voice as deep as the Grand Canyon, but loved to cook, garden and clean.   
It had been cold recently, Dean mused, and John just probably didn’t want to dig when the ground was so hard.  
He arrived at the door and knocked thrice. He could hear the sound of the TV turning off and the soft padding of footsteps, as well as the clattering of paws from the Australian Shepherd, Riot. Sam had chosen the name. Dean, to this day, hated the name; especially if you met the dog. Riot was the most timid, cowardly animal you would ever meet – and to have a name like that, it was cruel.  
The door opened and John beamed instantly, grabbing Dean and pulling him into a bear hug.  
‘Heya,’ Dean squeezed out in a tight breath. John was very strong, and his hugs were pretty intense, too.   
‘Dean,’ John said, still grinning as he pulled away. ‘What are you doing here?’  
Dean shrugged. ‘Spur of the moment, I guess. Just wanted to see you – and with mum coming home … I wanted to surprise her.’  
John nodded, taking his answer as acceptable. ‘C’mon in then, son.’  
Dean followed his dad in, leaving his bags by the door. He would put them upstairs later on.  
‘I noticed the garden’s looking a little sad, everything okay?’ Dean asked.   
John offered a tiny smile. He pointed to his flannel clad shoulder and gave it a small squeeze.  
‘Pulled a muscle in my shoulder playing baseball the last week, hurts too much to plant.’  
Dean winced in sympathy. ‘You been to the doctors?’  
John shook his head. ‘It’ll be fine. I’m old, Dean, it happens.’  
He laughed a little as he led them both into the living room, where the latest football match was on – only muted.  
‘I could do a bit of gardening for you, if you wanted,’ Dean offered, sitting down in one of the beige loungers. His mum hated that chair. But it was so damn comfortable that no one had let her throw it away.   
John barked out a laugh. ‘You want to garden? Aren’t you Mr. Macho man?’  
Dean coughed uncomfortably. ‘Well, obviously, I don’t want to. But I want to help you.’  
John raised an eyebrow. ‘Get hit by a car once and you start acting like your brother – we should hit you with cars more often.’  
Dean knew his dad meant no offence from that statement, but it hurt none the less. He swallowed down the tight feeling in his throat and tried to laugh it off.  
‘You can do it if you want to,’ John said. ‘No rush, though. How long you staying?’  
‘Depends,’ Dean responded, glad for the change in topic. ‘I wanna see mum, but she’ll probably run off as soon as she gets here.’  
John snorted. ‘Ain’t that the truth.’  
They watched the football together after that. Dean didn’t really care for the sport, but he did care for the athletes. Damn. He could stare at number 18’s thighs all day. 

It was around seven when Dean’s stomach let out a low gurgle. It was then that he remembered that the only thing he’d eaten that day was a bit of Cas’ shitty burger and some accidentally inhaled flour.   
‘You hungry, son?’ John asked, eyes fixed on the screen.  
‘Want me to cook us dinner?’ Dean suggested.  
‘Aren’t you like a little housewife today,’ John joked. Dean found it weird that John seemed to be mocking Dean for things that he himself did constantly, such as the gardening and cooking. It was a tad hypocritical and also confusing. 

Dean ignored him, though, as he pulled himself up from the lounger. It was no small feat, that chair was incredibly comfy. He wandered over to the kitchen and opened up the freezer. He couldn’t really be bothered cooking, especially after the day he and Cas had shared. The memory made him smile. Especially when he remembered how Cas had looked shirtless and covered in flour. He rummaged around the boxes of frozen ready meals, looking for something that caught his apatite.   
He eventually found two leek and potato pies, as well as some chips. He wasn’t the biggest fan of leek, but it was nutritious, or whatever.   
He placed the frozen foods in the oven and set the timer for twenty minutes. He spent the waiting period, getting two plates ready and cleaning some dishes left in the sink. That only killed roughly ten minutes, though. He couldn’t really be bothered going back into the living room and sitting down again, mainly due to how hard it was to leave the lounger so he pulled out his phone instead.  
He didn’t have the best phone, it was some old android model – but he could still get some apps on it and do all the basic shit he needed to do.  
He killed a few minutes playing ‘Furious Feathered Friends’ and then another few on ‘Temple Jog’. The oven beeped just as he was about to beat his high score, causing him to jump and fall off the edge of the track.  
He opened the oven and was greeted with a blast of hot smoke. He batted the heat away with the oven glove he had put on and then proceeded to pull the hot food out of the oven and plate it up.

‘Soups on,’ Dean called as he handed his dad the plate of food. John took it with a quiet thanks. He was still engrossed in the match. Dean had tired of staring at number 18’s thighs, turned out he couldn’t stare at them all day, so he said he told his dad he was gonna go upstairs to eat.

He balanced his plate of food and his bag carefully as he trudged upstairs. He nudged his bedroom door open with his butt and walked in.  
His room wasn’t too different. The walls were still that disgusting and head ache inducing colour of blue, but there was a double bed in the middle instead of his old ratty dingle mattress of the floor. He recognised the bed as Sam’s. He wasn’t surprised; they’d converted Sam’s room into another bathroom. It was an unnecessary renovation, as it had just been John and Mary at that point, but it seemed to be tradition to turn someone’s room into a bathroom when you got old.   
Dean’s room now hosted both of his and Sam’s junk. Luckily, most of it was in the attic or storage. But Sam’s easel was in the corner of his room, and Dean’s old TV and console still sat proudly under the window as it had always down. He visited memories of himself sitting on the floor, playing Zelda well into the early hours of the morning. If the console still worked, and if he could find his old Zelda disc, then he’d probably do the same thing tonight. He placed his plate of food on the desk by the bed and threw his bags down onto the floor with a thump.  
Standing in his room gave him a horrible feeling of nostalgia and failure. It had been in this room that he’d planned his life out, and studied for his tests and looked up collages and universities – all so he could be successful. Yet here he was; recently fired from a pointless job with no idea of where to go next. He felt like he’d let himself down. He picked his plate of food up again and ate it, sadly.   
He had forgotten to get a fork but he reasoned that his life was already falling apart and cutlery couldn’t save him. Leek pies are very watery and hard to eat without cutlery, but Dean thought of it has penance and continued to suffer. 

Dean slept badly. He was tossing and turning and he was too hot and he was too cold and now he had Katy Perry in his head.   
He woke up with Hot n’ Cold still playing in his head and crick in his neck. He rubbed his neck tiredly and winced at the tight pain. His phone told him it was 11am.  
He dragged himself out of bed and shuffled towards the door. When he got onto the landing, he could hear voices downstairs.  
It sounded like John and another woman. He couldn’t hear what they were saying, though. Dean trudged down the stairs and into the kitchen where the voices were coming from.  
‘Mum?’ Dean gasped. Mary looked up at him and smiled brightly. She was holding a cup of coffee in her hand, but placed it down on the counter and rushed over to Dean to crush him in a hug.  
‘Sweetie,’ she murmured, ‘I’m glad you’re okay.’  
‘Yeah,’ Dean laughed, ‘back in one piece and all.’  
‘I heard you got out at the start of the month. Sorry, I was so busy. I didn’t have time to call,’ she said with a smile.  
‘Its fine,’ he lied. ‘I understand. Work is work.’  
‘Come, sit down,’ She demanded, pouring him a cup of coffee. ‘I haven’t spoken to you in months.’  
She handed him his coffee and he accepted it graciously, sitting down on one of the stools that surrounded the island in the middle of the kitchen. Mary sat down beside him.  
‘So,’ she said mischievously, ‘you seeing anyone? A special someone?’  
Dean let a loud bark slip out and Mary’s grin faltered.   
Dean shook his head. ‘No, sorry, still single.’  
Mary pursed her lips slightly. ‘You should let me set you up with someone. Mrs Wiltson has a beautiful daughter, you’d get along great.’  
It wasn’t the first time that his mum had tried to set him up with someone. A few years ago, she’d been so relentless that he’d given in. It had ended in a miserable date with a girl called Becky Rossen – who ended up infatuated with Sam and paid no attention to him. That’s what you get for double dating. She had been annoying anyway, but it had still been a bit of a hit to his ego.  
Dean held up his hand to stop his mum from saying anymore. ‘I’m good, thanks.’  
‘You must at least be interested in someone,’ Mary whined.  
Dean felt his face flush instantly. Mary broke into a grin. Damn his face.  
‘Tell me,’ she pleaded, sounding like a teenage girl.  
‘Okay,’ Dean complied. ‘I do like someone.’  
Mary’s eyes gleamed. ‘Who is it? What’s her name? What’s she like?’  
‘Uh,’ Dean tried. He knew the only way out of this was lying. He wasn’t 100% ready to come out just now. Especially as he knew his parents weren’t too keen on the whole gay agenda thing.   
‘Her name’s Cas – short for Cassandra. She’s cool. She sucks at cooking, but she’s cool. She was a nurse at the hospital.’  
‘I don’t remember at Cassandra,’ John suddenly said.  
‘She was new,’ Dean replied quickly, glaring at his father. ‘Started the day I woke up, small world.’  
‘What does she look like?’ Mary asked.  
Stunning, Dean wanted to say, built like a god with beautiful sex hair and the bluest eyes you’d ever see.   
‘You know,’ Dean said, trying for nonchalant, ‘brown hair, kinda short, has a face.’  
Dean winced internally and Mary and John both looked sceptical.   
‘She sounds gorgeous,’ John said, deadpanning.  
‘Will we get to meet her?’ Mary asked hopefully.  
‘She kinda has a boyfriend,’ Dean said, ignoring the tug in his chest as he said that, ‘so I don’t think so.’  
Mary’s face fell again. ‘Shame, she sounds lovely.’  
‘Yeah,’ Dean agreed, ‘she really is.’


End file.
